The wind carries beautiful weather.
It raves within us, then resounds.
It carries beautiful weather.

All that’s lovely is bright but changes,
and grief remains.
Sometimes grief stretches inside us,
lies down in our eyes
and thickens the layers
that dim the lights we watch.
Then an aching of awe
blows cold and lost, unknown inside us,
haunting us deep.

But then again grief plays light
as breeze in a trembling poplar,
light as a net of mist on the river
that we watch thoughtless and mute.
In those moments all things legend themselves
and we say: how impossibly bright it all is.

The wind raves within us,
then resounds.
The wind carries beautiful weather.


Listen to the poem in Macedonian :