By Fatmir Terziu
A fist of curls disturbs the silence
Like greying hair, swimming on the Drin
The ring of the bank of Ohrid holds them on its back
Blue-green and fresh in every season.
From afar, a swan descends slowly
Open-winged, white and rare
Landing on the lake with a splatter
And kissing his water with longing.
Curls, splatters, and the sky blue
All become one colour
As if in a canvas, the sun places
This portrait of Struga in your face.