THE FIRST BULLET
(TRANSLATION)

I was born in a hamlet,

in the ancestors' house.

The Spring ahead,

the raw Winter behind.

My thread got broken

when what happened happened.

Death is on the field

playing with Life.

The Daughter was working

at the duties of the farm.

And Destiny called

on her heart's knocker.

Mum fell down

on her same way.

Dad, unable to stand

the charge of Life,

joined the others

hanging himself.

The song of the raven

on the walnut tree,

the drop of blood

going down its beak,

the noise of the words

my Uncle told me:

remember how Dad died?

You too will die

the same way.

With that dark curse

above me,

I'm going from the hamlet

from somewhere to somewhere.

Are Life's paths

closed to me or what?

I'm seeing everything

with my sharp eyes,

I'm charging the first bullet

in my rifle.