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Maria Deyana (Croatian)

Don’t Touch My Homeland NE DIRAJTE ZEMLJU MOJU Don’t touch my homeland, the lake of my tears not graves, not doorstep you spit on, the clay is full of dead bodies. Don’t dishonour my ancestral land like vultures you grab someone’s eyes, you too were fed from these breasts. Don’t toss your arrows, don’t darken … Continued

Don’t Touch My Homeland

NE DIRAJTE ZEMLJU MOJU

Don’t touch my homeland, the lake of my tears

not graves, not doorstep you spit on,

the clay is full of dead bodies.

Don’t dishonour my ancestral land

like vultures you grab someone’s eyes,

you too were fed from these breasts.

Don’t toss your arrows,

don’t darken my father’s names,

don’t break the white dove’s wing,

peonies grew from her wounds.

To stop what was meant to be,

how many of your rules it takes

oh you, far-away justice of God’s court?

The old monarch beats stronger in the church’s bell,

with a sickle he mows the poisoned seeds which grow,

here he talks and cries in the darkness.

The exhausted land shivers in agony,

won’t let the bitter absinth to grow

it curses and sprouts and is ashamed of you.

Don’t touch my homeland, my chancels

don’t point your fingers in God’s altar.

Like the stars lifted up from ashes

our burned out eyes will light the skies again,

here’s where children pray are Christened

moan and pray Our Father

For ages my prophets expand the incense here

for stabbed cord and saint bones,

and my land, now you’re a deep crypt.

They don’t know what they’re doing, You forgive them

warmth and tear from my eye.

Don’t touch my homeland!

Stop, Imperial’s Galleons

Everywhere around me war, death and blood

This morning in Lebanon …

I’m not crying with only one tear,

or hurt with only one wound,

I cry with tears of all mothers on this miserable world,

for everyone in the world I pray today

Where are you sailing, Imperial’s galleons? Where?

Stop! Around me cells and slaves.

In whose glory are javelins upraised? And everywhere

war and blood, dead children and graves

The moon mows with his sharp sickle. In the dark

there are rots and mould. Trembled night moans.

The whole world is just a deep wound. And in silence

there waits and yawns an empty hole

And everything is dying. Pregnant land wantons.

And saint, broken arms of Allah

on people’s last caterwaul

effuse the heaven’s dust

Lost mornings read Sabbath.

In Golgotha people kneels down in front of Christ,

yesterday and today and new day tomorrow died,

doesn’t the same tear hurt us?

Everywhere around me cells and slaves.

Stop Imperial’s galleons! The last thorn is playing.

Everywhere around me dead children and graves,

while I moan: Peace, peace, peace…

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