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HADJI DIMITAR

web

Alive, still alive! On the mountain's crest
there sunk into blood he's lying withdrawn,
a rebel with deep wound in his chest,
a rebel in youth and vigorous growth.

A rifle is thrown on left side. On right
one, broken in two, is left off a sword.
The eyes have grown dim. He's swaying his head.
The mouth is damning the whole Universe.

The rebel is lying but in the sky
the Sun is stood still burning with anger.
A woman's reaping down singing in fields.
The wound is bleeding as there's no ending.

It's harvest time now. Sing all you bondmaids
songs of despair and shine Sun of wrath
in that land of slaves. There's going to rest
that brave rebel, too…But be silent, heart!

He, who falls down in battle for freedom,
he will not die, for the Earth and the sky,
Nature and beasts are grieving for him and
singers in songs tell about his life.

An eagle's shading him in the hot days.
A wolf is licking gently his deep wound.
The falcon above, that bird of the braves,
from high's taking care for his brother, too.

The night comes there. The moon appears.
The stars strew over the dome of heavens.
The forest whispers. The wind then whistles.
The mountain's singing a song of rebels.

And maidens of woods, each one in white dress,
begin their weird and marvelous tunes.
They come through the grass with winged silent steps
to rebel and sit by him under moon.

One of them ties with herbs his wound round.
Another with water cools him. Inclined,
the third one quickly kisses his mouth.
He's looking at her. She's smiling and kind.

Tell me, my sister, where is Karadja?
Where are my faithful fellows, my dear?
Tell me and take then my soul to afar.
My only wish is to die, sister, here.

They clap and tightly embraced up they soar
with songs in darkness in distant skies far.
They fly and sing till the dawn, searching for
the spirit of hero by name Karadja.

The day breaks but in the mountain at noon
the rebel's lying in blood and languor.
The wolf is licking his ulcerous wound.
The Sun is burning as there's no ending.

 

 

© Hristo Botev
© Temenuga Marinova - translated from bulgarian
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 16.07.2011, № 7 (140)