Sedim pod neonsko lučjo
poslušam kako v žarnicah brni ...
Glava boli, glava boli, glava boli,
vse se mudi - a mene zraven še hrbet boli.

Delam stvari,
ki jih bo pojedel čas.
Nihče ne bo jokal za njimi,
nikjer ne bodo zapisane v zgodovini.

Zato napišem knjige,
te bodo tudi mene preživele,
če ne bo nobene druge koristi
bodo vsaj knjižni moli kaj od njih imeli.

Tudi drevesa zato sadim,
da bom na starost pod njimi sedel
in vnukom bral iz svojih knjig,
ko bo nad krošnjo visel bel puhast oblak.

Sedim pod neonsko lučjo
poslušam kako v žarnicah brni ...
Glava boli, glava boli, glava boli,
vse se mudi - a mene zraven še hrbet boli.

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My head pounds

I'm sitting under a neon light,
Listening to the buzzing bright.
My head pounds with aching pain,
As I try to keep myself sane.

Time ticks by, I do my tasks,
Knowing they'll soon be in the past.
No tears shed for what I do,
Lost in the shadows, hidden from view.

That's why I write books,
to leave my mark for generations to come,
to share my thoughts and ideas,
to inspire others and make them feel less numb.

These words will outlive me,
long after I am gone,
my legacy preserved in ink,
for bookworms to devour at dawn.

And that's why I plant trees,
to create a peaceful place,
where I can sit and reflect,
and share stories with a smiling face.

Beneath the shade of branches,
I'll read my tales aloud,
to my grandchildren's delight,
as we laugh and cheer, feeling proud.

So as I sit under this neon light,
I dream of a future serene,
where my stories and my trees,
will live on, forever seen.

Tomaž Jevšenak