Z razmršenimi lasmi stoji
na robu prepada,
veter je divja sila,
ki mu vleče dušo,
s šepetom ga vabi
v  globine.

Vendar se njegovo srce,
trmasto seme,
oklepa,
ukoreninjeno
v topli zemlji
njegove ljubljene domovine,
kjer cvetijo spomini,
in se zadržujejo odmevi smeha.

Ziba se,
ujet med klicem praznine
in bogatim objemom
zemlje,
kjer njegov duh pleše,
razpira se kot listje
v mehki jutranji svetlobi.

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With disheveled hair, he stands
on the edge of a precipice,
the wind a wild force,
tugging at his soul,
whispering of depths below.

Yet his heart,
a stubborn seed,
clings,
rooted in the warm soil
of his beloved homeland,
where memories bloom,
and echoes of laughter linger.

He sways,
caught between the call of the void
and the rich embrace
of earth,
where his spirit dances,
unfurling like leaves
in the soft morning light.

Tomaž Jevšenak