SPRING

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My spring, white sprinkling spring of mine,
Uncelebrated you I find...
You shine with new-discovered beams -
The gold of infinite pure dreams,
Yes, fly, surround the poplar trees,
Continue being just like this!

My spring, white sprinkling spring of mine,
I know that times of rain arrive,
And mighty winds will blow on by,
They'll wipe out all the bloody foam,
They'll bring the hope back to our home.

Yes, then will bird's new songs be born,
They'll fly around and play in corn...
And people will be working there,
Not having anything to bear,
You will be one big house of theirs.

Oh, my white spring, you will revive
The death-filled squares where people cry -
Let me see this one last sweet time,
Just once again, then I can die.

© Nikola Vaptsarov
© Igor Milner, translated from bulgarian
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 04.02.2012, № 2 (147)