STILLNES OF THE SEA

My mother, in those days, was painting portraits

Years passed so quickly

While the phone continued to ring

I felt the wood, the saw-dust, the moisture,

Tears of my grandfather

In one of his last days

My mother was in pain keeping secrets

Not to disturb my soul

So suppression took it all

Through the fields, up the road, near the forest

Far away from home

I hear my childhood call

            Where should we go?

            What should we see?

            We should go

            To the stillness of the sea.

My mother was convinced I’d gone the wrong way

She hoped I’d live a proper life

As a member of the working class.

Her garden is again full of roses

I won’t see them withered

I can’t follow someone else’s dream

My mother turned her arms to religion

Along with the radio show

All the troubles will be solved

Only stones full of small holes, from the beach,

Could cure the children’s sorrow

In many Sunday eves

            Where should we go?

            What should we see?

            We should go 

To the stillness of the sea.

(M. Petrak)

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