The Blue Stars’ Mane

Wings which have far departed

Brought us wreaths from death

Woven out of a mane

That flew towards the blue horizon.

I grabbed the holy wreath

And left with it into the world

At a custom there was the horse

Having no mane, but full of foams.

He kneeled right in front of me

I curled his neck

And flew with him towards the stars

Me as mane, and he the horse

Me, as hope and he the shrine.

                           

Wings that came right towards me

                            Brought us wreaths from stars

                            And I felt that they once were

                            The faith, the hope

                             The guardian of my country’s happiness.