Find the author {I took my girlfriend and off we went}

I took my girlfriend and off we went
from crooked bend to crooked bend
tugged by something that would not relent
The Sunlight slowly became sunset,
And Darkness caught us in its net,
Softly, my girlfriend I started to pet
Why do you roar, my quiet lake?
What can’t you say, but only quake?
What did you see on that modest bank?
And when that moment pops in my head,
In my head it pops; Ah! that blessed bank
Nor alive or dead, in its thrall I am held

Date Night

I have a date! Yay!
I never understand why I get so excited whenever I have a first date. I mean, in best case scenario I am going to acquire the old ball and chains (or is it balls and chain) and in worst case scenario I will end up hacked to pieces in little pretty ditches with yellow wildflowers. Mostly, I just sit there, trying to look interested and interesting, charming and charmed, and choking my little voice to death. Because there is nothing worse that having somebody pouring out their sob stories, while my little voice keeps piping up: “Gosh, he’s got bigger boobs than I do!”
But I do like going out, and I do get excited before a first date. I even have a whole set of rules that help me contain it like:
1. Never buy new clothes for a first date. Chances are you will feel sorry for the waste of a wonderful shirt or a new set of pumps. It is better to have a sort of uniform, such as buttoned blouse that can be opened further or closed to the neck depending on the hotness or sanity of your date. For boys, a clean shirt will do. Please remember to remove or tape in the tags. Returning items after wearing them spells only one thing: CHEAP!
2. Never try “new” looks on the first date. As enlighted as the other person sounded on the phone/messenger/bar last night/as described by your elderly aunt, it is never a good idea to try your fabio new hairdo or a seven inch rednails decorated with the black two-headed eagle on them. you might find yourself in a blog.
3. Do not pick up the phone when you are in the restroom, or in bed with your current ex. there is nothing worse than trying to woo sb with the wrong background music.
4. etc. I like making up rules, but I am too lazy to follow them.
But I digress.
I am a bit panicky. The panty hose does not fit, I do not have a new pack of tissues, my hair is coiling itself and sticking straight on all directions, absolutely refusing to come down. I also poked myself in the eye with the eyeliner. Top of the line my butt.
I finally leave for work, kicking myself that I made a date for Monday. It is actually not that bad for a first date. I have had dates at all times of the day, including a 8.30AM on Sunday morning. Don’t ask me how that went. Suffice to say that my “date” was still mentally asleep, and only woke up once to comment on my lack of make-up.
Monday says, I’d like to meet you but I am not knocking myself with a feather.
Monday says, I have to work tomorrow so dazzle me before I fall asleep.
Monday says, Your wallet is safe (for the moment) and I am only interested on getting to know you (but picking up the check is part of the process)
Monday says, It is supposed to be very casual, but you should still fix your hair and change your underwear.
Monday says, Stop talking to yourself and go back to work. Oh, actually that is my coworker.

An Awards Ceremony (pin the tail on the donkey)

Last week, an excited yours truly showed up at the doors of a Manhattanite building, where an Awards Ceremony was taking place. I had already RSVPd to the Albanian half of the ceremony organizers, only to find that my name was not on the list and there was no visitors badge for poor lil’me. About 20 other people could not find their names in the big mess either. The other half of the organizers consisted of these wonderful old Jewish biddies that “rrrr-ed” and “shlepped” throughout the ceremony.

It was for a great event actually. The Jewish organization gave an award to an Albanian family that had hosted and hidden 26 Jewish people during the WWII. I felt mighty and proud, especially when it turned out that one of the family descendants had served under my father in the military. Practically cousins.

The real fun was seeing the parade of Who’s Who of the Albanian Community, decked out in all their finery. the Ex-congressman and wife, Ex-ambassador, Current ambassador, even a deputy mayor from Albania who insisted on addressing the audience on behalf of his boss the mayor lady who could not be there. I could see the audience sniggering at that.

I met old and made new friends within the audience who was the cream (I SAY CREAM, CAN AH GIT A HALLELLUJAH) of the Albanian community.  I lurked near the refreshments desks, having a chewing contest with the Blondiest of Them All, while around us the room buzzed and bustled with more cameramen and journalists than the White House. Apparently everybody had left their security guard hats and waiter coattails at home and had decided to put on their journalistic vests. Unfortunately, they had also forgotten to bring their spelling bees and had given punctuation an indefinite holiday. If you do not believe me, just read the Albo Diaspora Media.

My old friends abhorred my new friends who in turn attacked the unsuspecting Jewish ladies, grazing by in dried fruit and ruggelah. But the enemy proved formidable and the little ladies held their own with praises and compliments and business card exchanges. Underlying currents of resumes also made their way into the environment, together with a flurry of hopeful phone numbers and furtive emails.

I sent my own little red and white ambassadors into the different worlds and then hightailed it out of there, with a dream of my own.

I have a dream that the Albanian Community will once come together to support each-other without phrenetic clapping and servile smiles.

I have a dream that Intellectual and Intellectual will also put on their superintendents’ hats and will proudly stand next to the actors/waiters and various insurance sales people without squabbling about who liberated Albania one hundred years ago.

I have a dream that sincere clerics and lobbyists will return phone calls that do not come from potential funding sources, and will replace National and Eagle speeches with Ambien handouts (they have the same effect on the audience).

I have a dream that Young Albanian Professionals will give each other a hand without expecting Messiah Hymns and Firstborn sacrifices in return, and without rubbing their cold and clammy hands together every two minutes.

Alas! Tis now bedtime and me doth thinks that second glass of wine went too soon.

say my name

i take an intensely perverted pleasure in making people say my name. it is not a hard name to say, actually it is a ridiculously easy name to say once you pay attention to the way i have said it, but i delight in making people say it over and over, with mortified faces until they get it right.

i guess it started back in albania, when my name was common enough, but not terribly so. it is a good, solid name, purely albanian as far as i know, and it does not encourage nicknames. a lot of my classmates and cousins had nicknames, and i had my share too, but nothing from my name. it was easy to say, easy to write, easy to remember, modern enough not to be ashamed of it, and it did not rhyme with neither the street songs or embarrasing body parts. i guess i took for granted the ease with which it was used, that i did not think twice about correcting other’s people names when they did not fit the most common spellings, like Evis, Ervis, Elvis, Elvi, Elvana, Elvin that i grouped all in one: Evi.

As soon as i moved to NY things changed. everybody who heard it, wrinkled their brow and depending on how important i was to them, either made  an effort to say it correctly or butchered it smoothly and tried to avoid calling me by name from then on. the name tag helped, but my spelling didn’t. i was so bad at spelling, i actually had to write my name down in my palm.

then i got a job as customer service. i had all sorts of clients lined up to talk to me, especially on Mondays after a big hangover, because my voice appearantly slid a couple of octaves lower and it grabbed them by the groin.  our number was actually an 800 number so they also saved money in the process. it was all lovey dovey, until we got to my name. then, i could just hear in their voices a seething feeling, the same i get when i call Dell or my Macy’s card customer service and a heavily accented voice answers. i got so many spellings that i made a list and put it on my cubicle, as a reminder of how thick these yankees really were. the list was as follows:

bloerthe

bleartha

blertha

blur

blairta

bloara

bertha

brenda

brianna

plerthe

burrita

blubber

bladder

benda

etc.

so i tortured them by spelling it out too quickly, then making them say it until they got it half-way right. big fun.

then my coworker and friend of three years and a half wrote me a post-it starting with:

Dear Blertha,

it did not make it any easier let me tell you especially since we had both made fun of the illiterate interior designers who butchered our names. but as she would put it: c’est la vie….

then there were the telemarketers. naturally phonophobic, imagine my irkness at being woken up at 10.00AM from my much deserved slumber, to be called something that sounded like a cross between a dead bird and a bodily function. why, oh why these people do not read a bit more before they start irritating people on the phone? then they complain that they can not sell anything. if they tell me that telemarketing is satan’s way of harrasing past life sinners, i would fully believe it. learn a different language, hire a speech coach or catch your tongue with a clothes pin, but please say my name right!

nowadays, i just correct people with that contemptuous look in my eyes that says it all really. i hope they go home and think about opening up their minds and eyes and learning a different language, instead of scratching off their minds the lady with the unpronouncable name. if not, they are in for trouble, because God will make them reincarnate as telemarketers.

My father taught me
To stand up and face the music
My mother taught me
To extend my neck and smile gracefully
So I kneel in front of you
I watch blood spurt from my severed spine
delight all around
It does not feel good
But it is who I am

In the arms of an old man

he holds me formally, one hand under my left shoulder, the other one holding my own straight. his steps are precise if a bit slow, and his eyes look upon me benevolently when i step on his foot. they are very old eyes, sparkly from the music but tired from life. yet he has shown up at today’s event, dressed immaculately, with shiny shoes and a fedora, together with many other old timers in all their finery. and now he is dancing with me.
i am touched. as he takes me expertly around the dancing floor, i feel indeed very special. i did not know that i had it in me to see past the old man and mothball smell, or to feel so secure in those dry freckled hands.
the music goes faster and my feet tend to follow it without regard for my partner’s creaking joints. yet, he subdues me, brings me closer to his rythm and i understand that all my energy is not a match for the experience and knowledge that seep from his feet. and that if i want to learn, i should quit my noise once again and follow.
earlier on, I and ms D. performed the flamenco for our elderly audience. I never really studied the footwork and i am not good at it, but i thought that i could fool these oldies because i have good posture. wrong idea. the man who is so carefully twirling me around has surely seen through my ruse. a master like this understands the inability to coordinate and remember intricate footwork during performance. yet here he is, showing me what i miss in my dance, elegantly and expertly. and if i give him back the feeling of holding once more a pretty young thing in his arms, i am glad for that. it is but a small trade for what i am receiving.
he smiles at me again and i think of how devastaing this smile would have been once upon a time. i also understand how much we miss today with the crunk and the stomp and whatever passes for dance. yes it is impressive to writhe every muscle of my body or shake that booty until all are hipnotized. but how am i going to show that to my grandchildren when i am 94? what dance will i leave for them? will another young product of our culture have the chance that i am having now, to be held or to hold experience and elegance in his/her arms?
then the dance ends, the man accompanies me to my seat, kisses my hand, bows and takes his seat. i am still in a swoon.

Find the Author (this one is eaaasssyyy)

The apples smelled wonderful. They were already ripe and full of juice…and what juice! Sweet as honey and cool as ice. True Korca apples and no mistake.

Zebo Bear circled the tree trunk several times with his head up, but he could not climb it no matter how hard he tried. His bulky belly, as round as two balloons, was a very serious obstacle in his way of tasting the wonderful fruit. At the same time, his feet would not even budge at the thought of leaving without tasting those beautifully ripened apples. Finally, he found the solution: he put his front paws on the whitewashed trunk and started shaking it like he wanted to pluck the whole tree from its roots. The tree started to shed its ripe apples, its reddened leaves and…who else do you think?… Chufo Piggy. Even though his buttocks were hurt in the fall, Chufo got up quickly and started to run, as if to trying to prove the old saying “light feet save the face”. However, Zebo, who did not care about faces or feet, managed to snatch him by the ear.

 

- Hey, lemme go! Lemme go, ‘cos you’re stopping my blood circulation! – Chufo yelled, his eyes popping out like eggs over easy (sunny side up, tennis/golf/Ping-Pong balls).

Zebo was torn between anger and satisfaction, so he just huffed instead:

-I think I stopped the apple circulation, you little p-u-n-k! What were you doing on top of the tree? Huh?

-I was just sleeping, man!

-O horror! – bellowed the bear – Why are you lying to me, little one?

-My body needs it.

-Your body needs it?! You dare mock me? You think I never climbed a tree in my life? 

-That is your business…I dunno ‘bout that.

-Tell me. What were you doing on top of the apple tree? And stop fibbing or I will get even angrier than I already am.

-Honest injun, I was sleeping! I am not fibbing, and you can get as angry as you want, but it is not good for your blood pressure.

Zebo put his hands at his waist.

-Sleeping, huh? Why, is it your bed time now?

-I sleep any time, I swear on your head!

-Be quiet!

-You told me to talk.

-So, you climbed the tree to sleep?

-You got it, bucko! Last night, we had Mrs. Cicada for dinner and she talked and talked until dawn. She could not stop talking, as if we fed her CDs instead of canapés. Nobody is better than her when she tells her tales of witches and bats.

-Be quiet! Why couldn’t you sleep on your own room or lawn, but lay on top of my best apple tree, huh? Speak!

-You told me to be quiet!

-Be when you have to be quiet, and speak when you have to speak!

-I am always soo mixed up about that…

-Mixed up, eey? – He snatched piggy’s left ear again, like it was not an ear but a truck door.

-Ouch! Ouch! You’ll cut my ear off!

-Tell me!

-I slept on top of the tree, because the ants were training up and down for their winter food forage.

-Hum. Up to today, I thought you pigs were thicker than tree planks, but instead you can sell combs to the bald.

-Well, if the baldies want to buy…

-Be quiet!  Impertinent child!

Sign this petition, you get a butterfly!

to sign the petition below, cut and paste
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/takeaction/772780461?ltl=1168965805

We, the Undersigned, endorse the following petition:
RECOGNIZE INDEPENDENT STATE OF KOSOVA
Target: George W. Bush, President
Sponsor: Alternativistat – ADK
Signatures: 166
Goal: 50,000
Deadline: Ongoing…

Recognize independent state of Kosova
Njiheni shtetin e pavarur të Kosovës

166 8:33 am PST, Jan 16 Stefan Kochi
165 8:28 am PST, Jan 16 Aida Tocilla
164 8:21 am PST, Jan 16 Afërina Skeja
163 8:20 am PST, Jan 16 Maria Tucci
162 8:14 am PST, Jan 16 Thomas Pirovano
161 8:08 am PST, Jan 16 Edvin Cami
160 8:05 am PST, Jan 16 Fatmir Qeleposhi
159 8:05 am PST, Jan 16 seda çýnar
158 8:04 am PST, Jan 16 Fatos Dingo
157 8:04 am PST, Jan 16 Flutura Duraku
156 7:57 am PST, Jan 16 Idriz HAXHIAJ
155 7:53 am PST, Jan 16 Anonymous
154 7:46 am PST, Jan 16 Meral Kaqamaku
153 7:40 am PST, Jan 16 Denada Daja
152 7:33 am PST, Jan 16 Michael Barth
151 7:32 am PST, Jan 16 Lawrence Smith, BA
150 7:31 am PST, Jan 16 Dashamir Bërxulli
149 7:31 am PST, Jan 16 Agron Abdullahi
148 7:30 am PST, Jan 16 Gani Pireva
147 7:23 am PST, Jan 16 Ed S. Alster
146 7:22 am PST, Jan 16 Besart Berisha
145 7:21 am PST, Jan 16 Myfide Cecelia
144 7:01 am PST, Jan 16 Nora Ahmetaj
143 6:56 am PST, Jan 16 Aferdita Dauti-Heilman
142 6:49 am PST, Jan 16 Valbona Thaqi
141 6:43 am PST, Jan 16 dr.Xhavid Duraku
140 6:41 am PST, Jan 16 Ismer mjeku
139 6:40 am PST, Jan 16 Valdet Qyrfyci
138 6:31 am PST, Jan 16 Christina Hardy
137 6:28 am PST, Jan 16 Valentina Selimi
136 6:28 am PST, Jan 16 Suzana Varvarica Kuka
135 6:19 am PST, Jan 16 Laç BERISHA
134 6:15 am PST, Jan 16 Gjelbrim Isahu
133 6:07 am PST, Jan 16 Anonymous
132 6:05 am PST, Jan 16 Aurel Boriçi
131 5:56 am PST, Jan 16 Doriana Metollari
130 5:53 am PST, Jan 16 Stefan gjuraj
129 5:52 am PST, Jan 16 Bujar Gosalci
128 5:39 am PST, Jan 16 Ermira Kthupi
127 5:38 am PST, Jan 16 D-ARCHITECT.INT D-ARCHITECT.INT
126 5:35 am PST, Jan 16 Anonymous
125 5:27 am PST, Jan 16 Riana Husted
124 5:00 am PST, Jan 16 Rasim Mjekiqi
123 4:58 am PST, Jan 16 Petrit Ibrahimi
122 4:57 am PST, Jan 16 Asdren Ibrahimaga
121 4:53 am PST, Jan 16 Arian Shuku
120 4:46 am PST, Jan 16 Hashim Thaqi
119 4:29 am PST, Jan 16 Anonymous
118 4:21 am PST, Jan 16 Ermiooni Peshkatari
117 4:18 am PST, Jan 16 Toska Husted
116 4:18 am PST, Jan 16 shpresa kastrati
115 4:07 am PST, Jan 16 Zana Radoniqi
114 4:06 am PST, Jan 16 Romina Gjata
113 4:05 am PST, Jan 16 Fatmire Hoxha
112 4:05 am PST, Jan 16 Zana Tabaku
111 3:56 am PST, Jan 16 Admir Ikonomi
110 3:46 am PST, Jan 16 Estevan Ikonomi
109 3:45 am PST, Jan 16 Kushtrim Krasniqi
108 3:37 am PST, Jan 16 yllza skeja
107 3:37 am PST, Jan 16 Festim UKA
106 3:36 am PST, Jan 16 Anonymous
105 3:26 am PST, Jan 16 Gazmend Bunjaku
104 3:15 am PST, Jan 16 Alban Dermaku
103 3:14 am PST, Jan 16 Ilir Zeka
102 3:13 am PST, Jan 16 Agim Devolli
101 3:11 am PST, Jan 16 Alban Ibrahimi

RECOGNIZE INDEPENDENT STATE OF KOSOVA
Recognize independent state of Kosova
Prishtina, January 12, 2007

Dear Decision Maker
The journey to independence for Kosova’s people has been difficult and full of sacrifices. In the decade of crisis, the people of Kosova faced brutal oppression on the scale of genocide, but remained resolute to make its dream for freedom, independence and democracy come true. Thanks to the military intervention against Serbia by the US, EU, NATO, UN, Kosova has been under international protection since 1999. The time has come for the will of Kosova’s people to be recognized and for Kosova to take its hard-earned and well-deserved place in the family of independent and democratic nations. Therefore, we call on you:
To recognize the right of self-determination of the people of Kosova

To recognize the independent and sovereign state of Kosova in its territorial entirety

To admit Kosova in the UN as its newest member

To recognize and acknowledge the independent state of Kosova represents the key to the stability in Kosova and the region

To understand the independent and democratic state of Kosova will guarantee the rights and perspectives for all of its citizens including minorities

To recognize that the independent state of Kosovo brings to an end the disintegration of ex-Yugoslavia and accelerates the integration of the region into the Euro-Atlantic community
We, the youth who are the initiators of this petition, want our country to become ‘a land of hope.’ This is possible only if the will of the people of Kosova is respected and internationally recognized.

Sincerely,

Njiheni shtetin e pavarur të Kosovës
Prishtinë, 12 janar 2007

Të nderuar vendimmarrës,
Rrugëtimi për pavarësi i popullit të Kosovës ishte i vështirë dhe plot sakrifica. Populli i Kosovës u ballafaqua me shtypjen brutale deri në shkallë të gjenocidit, por mbeti i vendosur që ëndrra për liri, pavarësi dhe demokraci të bëhet realitet. Falë intervenimit ushtarak ndaj Serbisë të SHBA, UE, NATO dhe OKB Kosova gjendet nën protektorat ndërkombëtar nga viti 1999. Tash është koha që të njihet vullneti i popullit të Kosovës dhe që Kosova ta zë vendin e merituar dhe të fituar me shumë mund në familjen e shteteve të pavarura dhe demokratike. Për këtë kërkojmë nga ju:
Të njihet e drejta për vetëvendosje e popullit të Kosovës

Të njihet shteti i pavarur dhe sovran i Kosovës, në tërësinë territoriale të saj

Kosova të pranohet në OKB, si anëtare më e re e saj

Të njihet dhe të pranohet se shteti i pavarur i Kosovës është çelës për stabilitetin në Kosovë dhe në rajon

Të kuptohet se shteti i pavarur dhe demokratik i Kosovës është garancë dhe perspektivë për të gjithë qytetarët e saj, përfshirë dhe minoritet

Të pranohet së shteti i pavarur i Kosovës përfundon dezintegrimin e ish-Jugoslavisë dhe përshpjeton integrimin e rajonit në bashkësinë Euro-Atlantike
Ne të rinjtë, iniciatorë të këtij peticioni, dëshirojmë që vendi ynë të bëhet “tokë e shpresës”. Kjo mund të realizohet vetëm nëse respektohet dhe njihet ndërkombëtarisht vullneti i popullit të Kosovës.

Me nderime,

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Houka Lounge

I seem to be going to a lot of Houka lounges lately. They are like the pod people, showing up everywhere. It is so decadent to pose with the pipe on your hand, like a turkish sultan, close your eyes, suck in the smoke and blooooowwww.

I have first found out about Houkas or nargiles through books and paintings of turkish bejs and pashas. Of course, there is the famous illustrations of “Alice in Wonderland” with the caterpillar smoking one. And all the frat movies have a shot of its first cousin, the bong.

Being a symbol of all that’s old and decadent, I never expected to see one in Englewood at the most charming little lebaneze restaurant. The lady of the house brought it outside and smoked it with her friends, while I kept expecting cops to show up and arrest her. The houkas are made for smoking opium or hashish. But she was smoking it and chatting away and was still not in cuffs by the end of the night, so I figured the cops had become nearsighted.

I saw them again this year at this cute bar down in the Village called Le Souk, which seems to be the hangout for all young and “kewl” Albo kids. I said hi to a couple of them, just to see their faces frown and their hands unconsciously touching their hairdos and clothes. I bet they were thinking about how did I guess their ethnicities, but baby there was nothing they could do about their noses or angles on their heads.

Anyway, the nice friends I was with ordered one. It was interesting but it did nothing for me. Just a thing to suck in and blow out I guess. It was kind of sexy to tell you the truth and it is a good prop for posers and wannabes. We did have fun at that place.

Then, yes there was a lounge in Edgewater, and another one in Hoboken, and of course plenty of little mushroom places in Manhattan where you could blow smoke up other’s noses and have a sore throat any day of the week.

The Manhattan places are very lively and full of strange little people with piercings in interesting body parts. The houkas are more expensive, and they last less, but you get a pinneapple or orange rinds to enrichen the smoke. The music is this thumping middle eastern-80ies mix and they usually have a belly dancer who learned her moves from the Neena and Veena exercise videos, and a fortune teller who can only read the size of the drunken girls wallets. it is all in good fun though, and the New York hipsters suck it all up and consider themselves experts in Middle Eastern culture. And the smart club owners count the money and watch drunk girls corn-grown butts shake out of time with the music. (between you and me it is big fun to watch some butts try to shake it to the music. nobody ever told this people that they are supposed to shake it to the beat and not to dislodge their love handles)

By comparison, the Edgewater houka place was this somber bar with serious smokers of a certain age and from all parts of the Mediterranean, who sat in the comfy chairs, held philosophical discussions and blew applesmoke in patterns. The wine was on tap. The basketball game was on at the huge flatscreens all over the walls. it was quite interesting to watch. The place even had its resident “expert” who was trying to show his girl “how it is done” and dropped the coal numerous times in the process until only a bit of ash dust was left. We had fun watching him and sipping our wine, Shiraz for me Merlot for my friend.

So if you ever go to a houka lounge, remember to blow the smoke out of your nose, because it makes you an expert and a cool dragon. Do not try to make patterns, unless you have tried this at home or are a fiend with a cigarette. Suck the smoke in slowly, watching the bubbles on the houka and then blow it out even slower, with your eyes half closed and the pipe elegantly held in one hand. If you are a guy, an upturned pinky is probably not a great idea.

Prod the coal gently, if it starts to turn to ash and if the lounge provides tongs, but do not do so 1. with your fingers, 2. with paper towels, 3. with your nose (look ma, no hands, ouchh!! ouchh!! ouchh!!)

And do remember to hang up the pipe-nozzle if nobody else wants it. You do not want to come back to a nozzle somebody sat upon now, do you?

Now that I have led you through the labyrinth of Houkas, I bid you good night and may your dreams be filled with smoke and genies and a lot of belly dancing houris if you are a boy, or dancing for your pasha if you are a girl.

Note: the dreams can also be switched with your best girl/boy friend based on your natural/unnatural inclinations.

Find the Author

This is one of my follies that happens when i have too much time on my hands. Find the author!
O ye Albanian mountains and you tall oaks!
Vast fields of bloom that my mind always evokes
you beautiful hillocks and rivers so clean!
Peaks, hills, cliffs and forests most green!
I will sing of the sheep that you keep and breed,
O blessed natives, my mind you own complete
Albania, you call me your own, and give me my pride,
and full of fire and passion you once forged my heart
O mother Albania, I know we are too far apart,
But the yearn for your love still burns in my heart.
On its mother’s call, how the lamb leaves its herd,
Bleats and runs with its hooves not touching earth,
Even if twenty or thirty people try to cut its way,
Scare it back, it’d never, but run through like light o’day,
The same way my hearts abandons me here,
Runs full of love towards your lands most dear.
Where cold streams run and breezes play in summer
where beautiful, fragrant, and smiling blooms the flower,
where the shepherd plays and the sheep the grass graze,
where the billygoat rests that’s where my mind too rests.
There, the sun wakes up smiling and the moon of joy shines,
prosperity and fortune have made that land their shrine
The night is different there and the day a different day
In those deep green forests where gods love to stay.
Mind! Take to the hills and fields, and run from the city,
leave the stress, the gossip, the grimy and the gritty.
Where the quail chirps with joy and canaries tweet,
The cuckoo laughs merrily, the nightingale sings sweet.
As the rose burst in bloom, that’s where I want to be
to sing my heart out with the birds on the tree
To see the ewes, lambs, rams, the goats and the kids
the breathtaking sky, the flowers, the light the land lit.