Struga

By Fatmir Terziu Poetic city of the verse You remained from birth to death Body and lips wet Never feeling thirsty. From far the green crown Comes and combs in your eye And you hold it in your lap Singing it songs with longing. The breeze descends mornings From the gorge of Ladorisht down And then lays among the rays That the sun nails down. The aroma of apples is brought by the valley Winter, summer, autumn and spring And who never tried your charcoaled trout And didn’t remain queued in the restaurants. Poetic city of poets City, symbol of cleanliness White, days and nights With the heart of verse. (Struga city, Macedonia 2013)