THE SEA (Морето)

Tight is the rope. ‘Tis made of steel -
The boat would hardly go
And tear off the hardened shore,
That weighs as if an anchor on the hands.

The waves are wild. The wind is mad
With violent power in the sails.
Your hands are craving for the oars,
Your eyes absorbing the horizon.

What is it that you wait for in this harbor,
The boat was made for sailing,
Your blood is boiling with the sun.
You have to fight the sea.

For there’s a worm inside the boards.
Inglorious the boat will sink,
And in the sails the wind
Will long be laughing…
Unless you sail…

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