It left his skin on a stone
and turned into stone. A viper.
It grunted from rifle shots
and turned into mist. A wild boar.
It washed its eyes in foam
and turned into a sigh. Day.
In the village of Vraži Dol
Old father Time has sat down on a stone
and on his fingers
of wisdom
calculates
how many drops of blackberry wine are needed
to prolong his life.
You can ask yourself and still you won't know:
Does time die with man?

Markings

This race,
this wonderful race!
Here it kisses the hangman
with a golden noose round its neck;
here for a fistful of mulberries
it fights to the blood with a brother;
here it gets drunk with a rage,
foaming at the mouth,
here it plucks the live heart
from a dove.
This race,
this wonderful race!
In its furrows
under the sun awakens
a flower with a biblical name:
Mother-of God's-heart.

Threesome Dance

Let's go and dance a little,
Death, you and me.
He'll dig a well,
you, with the well's bucket
will haul up my blood.
Death will sow tranquillity,
you'll water the tranquillity,
I'll harvest the bones for you.
I'll gather them into a heap,
I'll knit them together,
and while I still have one
I'll lock up my heart in them.
Death will take a ruby from it,
place the ruby in your hands,
you will strike my head with it.
Death above the stone,
you on the stone,
I under the stone;
you and he before the altar,
I a wedding guest in finery
underneath the altar.
When we've danced our fill
we'll part again.
Each by his own mill
to be ground down tomorrow.