The wind courted me,
He knocked against the windows, against the carved blinds.
I would rise at dawn, mother,
I became the wind's betrothed.
And, well, who would argue with the wind?
Who would dare defy him?
Stitch jasmine and gillyflowers
While you wait to meet your groom.
Mother, let me go into the field,
The stained glass is green in the chapel,
So that my weightless groom
Would come from the east in fragrant herbs.
Under the green moon
My groom will take my heart in his hands,
The bells' chime will scatter
Inside seven wide hems.
And, well, who would argue with the wind?
Who would dare defy him?
Stitch jasmine and gillyflower
While you wait to meet your groom.
Where is my wind? The field is empty.
Or has my darling betrayed me?
What use is my beauty and will?
He is winged, yet i am wingless!
What need has such a one for a wife?
He is toying with a silken vine;
Somewhere a rider standing up in stirrups
Is rushing towards his death.
Oh, what on earth does he need me for,
He is sharp and harsh, like a knife;
Thin fingers of wind's blades
Embroider the darkness of the sky.
And, well, who would argue with the wind?
Who would dare defy him?
Stitch jasmine and gillyflowers
While you wait to meet your groom.
He unbinds my tight braids
Under a young olive moon.
He dances and laughs in the quiet
As if i've really become his wife.
Too late you've called me, friends.
I do not recognize myself anymore.
For i am no longer myself, mother,
And my home is no longer my home.