Bulgar sair Elisaveta Bagriana'nin dogum yildonumu (16 Nisan 1893)
Portreleri yok bende atalarimin
Ne de soy kutugume iliskin kitaplar
Bilmiyorum turkulerini onlarin
Yabancidir bana gittikleri yollar.
Fakat atesli sakaklarimda benim de
O kara, isyanci kandir atan.
Ve adina ask denilen o ucurumun
Odur beni ucuna iten.
Buyuk ninem, sicak kanli, civan
Ipek bir yasmak gozlerinin altinda
Kacmadi mi bir geceyarisi
Tutkudan eriyen bir yabanciyla?
Kuzgundan kara o kuheylani
Animsar Tuna boyu bahceleri
Ikisini de yatagindan
Ruzgar kurtarmisti, silip izleri ...
Belki de bundandir carpmasi yuregimin
Kirlar uzerinde bagirinca kugu.
Uzak, mavi kiyi cizgisini sevisim
Ve kirbac altinda at kosusunu ...
Nasil bir insanim, ben de bilmiyorum!
Bildigim sadece, olsem de yitsem de
Senin kizinim ben ey sevgili toprak
Ey eski Bulgar topragi, yurdum.
No portraits of my grandfathers are kept
fixed in a family picture-book.
I know nothing of the testaments they left,
The lives they led, their souls, their looks.
But I sense the wandering, self-willed beat
of the ancient blood of all my kin.
Its raging rouses me from sleep,
it draws me to our first-found sin.
Perhaps some grandmother — dark-eyed,
with silken pantaloons and turban —
escaped at darkest night to ride
with an alien, fair-featured Khan.
Perhaps across the Danubian Plain
hooves came drumming on the chase.
Yet they were saved from being slain
for the wind smoothed our their every trace.
Perhaps because of this I'm gripped
by lands unseized by human eyes,
by horses that fly at the crack of the whip,
the wind-splashed, free-affirming cry.
Perhaps along my way I'll falter
and lies and sin may show my worth.
But I am, indeed, your faithful daughter,
by bond of blood, my mother earth.
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