Poppies of the Crags

Poppies of the Crags

Black ravens dance around you in the snowy whiteness of infinity
Tracks of muddy boots line up to witness the shameless trail
Faceless people in a nest of hatred, unleashed from a golden chain
They thought knightly Montenegro would die
That it would fall silent like a frozen bird
Voiceless
Well, by God, it won't!
Small as she is to you, a guarantor!
Oh, poor wretch how many times they trampled you
And you rose again
How many Saber blades bent against crags and necks.
So much gunpowder and cartridges scattered over this stone.
If it were grain, you’d be a granary
Your peaks would be white with loaves of bread
Red rivers would flow through your valleys and canyons.
On meager fields,
poppies of blood would grow for every head that came to rest in these crags of yours.
So many mothers and brides, draped in black,
they’d cover the sky with veils so it may never clear
And the rain of unshed tears would never stop
So many evildoers have you proudly seen off
Do not falter, my dear
I am not afraid; I am just talking to myself in bitterness
No one shall extinguish you.