Somewhere in the night, shadows smolder in desolation,
humble branches dissolve in solitude.
Following the moonbeams to the branches, owls,
the birds of the night, licked in sorrows perch on top.
With a prayer they spread the darkness like a carpet on earth,
the raging flame does not subside, but angrily slides along the height, the wind whispers, but does not subside,
the dawn kisses the fields with its colors.
Somewhere in the night, in unison with the pale shore and sea,
the wind blows cold, the rain pours,
showering the soil with sadness, fluttering the veil of light.
Birds fly to a frantic memory, magical,
to cleanse their souls, to sow children's peace,
obsessed with clarifying the world, they embrace their children,
with their wings they press them tightly, and to the feasts in the spring bloom, they fly bearing peace on their backs, and keep their covenant.
Somewhere in the night, lilies on the river sway gently in deaf silence. Sparks go out under the veil of shadowy words,
and the dust noisy, and the ashes hot, colored by the firmament
and nature loving wrap our life towards eternity.
The night whispers, the wind blows on the branches,
the harvest grows and fills the fields, the leaves tremble,
with a slight tremor the universe shakes the vines.
And let the rain fall for a long time, whispering rhythmically,
a song gently sings, so fabulously ringing,
it pours over the plains, crumbles the rocks and flourishes.
Somewhere in the night where death and life intersect,
and the silent trunks absorb sleep from the fields,
there the shadows smolder in the mist, where the stems are tender
and showered by the rain build the leaves.
The night whispers, the mountain turns black,
bathed in dew, the bushes rustle like autumn leaves,
and the sky is showered with bright beads.
Flocks of birds fly over scorching fields,
the stars speak verses, and kindle the morning spark,
the day dawns, the gardens ripen, and the birds find new land.
translated from Bulgarian