You who will stand on Gazibaba, you, my descendant hear me:
From here I too have gazed on Skopje,
it was a spring day, one of those
when the fresh outlines of the roofs
are softly interwoven
and every poplar is a green waterjet.
My gaze a little veiled
(that's why I'm silent)
but clear-sighted and bright.
Know you:
I feel that this my call
is the boldest grasp for the future,
an embrace of your soul, I'd say,
and cutting like a fresh-honed edge, dreaming, teeming, screaming:
remember me!