Sotiria Bellou

Don’t you cry and don’t get sad that evening comes
we who have lived as poor men
the rain of the world doesn’t bother us
we that live by ourselves

Our houses are low
like desolate barracks
our summers are short
and the winters endless

Don’t cry and don’t fear the darkness
we who have lived as poor men
the cruelty of the world doesn’t scare us
it will come for us, too, a Sunday

Our houses are low
like desolate barracks
our summers are short
and the winters endless

Wake up, my little one, and listen
to some minor song of the dawn,
for you it has been written
from the cry of some soul.

Open your window
throw me one sweet glance
and then let me be extinguished
before your house, in a corner.

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Το παραθύρι σου άνοιξε
ρίξε μου μια γλυκιά ματιά
Κι ας σβήσω πια τότε, μικρό μου,
μπροστά στο σπίτι σου σε μια γωνιά.

He will try me, the cuckoo, and the nightingale
but in Agiaso my little golden cross
the nights when the white snow is falling
the Tsetes will hang Christ

In the heavens which we make a ceiling
we don’t see a starry sky at night
Corsairs, Franks, Venetians
sold us for grosia and florins

In Troy they grow wheat
and in Agiaso in a deserted church
Theofilos painted with blood
Charon wearing light blue

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Στην Τροία μεγαλώνουνε τα στάχυα
και στην Αγιάσο σε μιαν έρμη εκκλησιά
ζωγράφισε ο Θεόφιλος με αίμα
το χάρο να φοράει θαλασσιά