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Açıklama
The graves of those buried in the heart should also be adorned,
May nothing be printed on their soil, Elizya!
When morning awakens with a dark clamor,
It should not touch them!
Neither thunder,
Nor a piercing cry…
The eyes that drink from your moisture should always be wet.
No dry land should remain from those places.
How many bougainvilleas, how many lilies will grow,
How many poppies...
In the dream of red.
How many tulips, how many hyacinths do you know, Elizya?
I couldn't say "rose," and I still can't,
With every rose I planted, my smiles faded,
Now they cover the soil of my heart…