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Showing posts from October 24, 2013

You whose hands are more innocent than mine

It is said that the greatest loves are often tragic. When I think of love stories, I often think of Vesna Parun, a Croatian poetess, and one of her poems in particular. It is a poem that Vesna wrote to the wife of the man that was her only love and it is  the most tender of poems that I have ever read. This poem has been translated by many, but today I have felt like translating it myself.
You whose hands are more innocent than mine, poem by Vesna Parun
You whose hands are more innocent than mine you  who is  as wise as the complacence itself. you who can read better than myself loneliness from his forehead You who can chase away from his face the slow shadows of doubt  like the spring wind chases away the shadows of clouds over the hill.
If your embrace gives courage to the heart, and your tights end the pain, if your name is the heaven to his thoughts, and your throat  shade to his resting place and the night of your voice an orchard  still untouched by storms. 
Then stay by him and be more devoted tha…