I dream of the land of the throat singers,
where strings play the melody of death
and the flute sings the lament of the damned.
Where the bent old shamans hoarse with ancient mantras,
sing of the times long forgotten
and warn of the apocalypse looming beneath the horizon.
I dream of the land of the travelling gypsies,
where women dance away their loneliness
and the crystal balls lie without any shame.
Where the black eyes of silent children,
murmur a thousand secrets
and carry the shadows of forgotten desires.
I dream of the land of mer-people under the stormy seas,
where the darkness rules each corner
and the weight of the waters burden the heart.
Where the dark smiles of mermaids,
weave a million enticements
and seduce the sailors to their death.
I dream of the land of dark forests under humid skies,
where the old gnarled trees stand guard
and their roots grip the black soil with unimaginable strength.
Where the birds chirp cautiously
with fear in their tiny hearts,
afraid to disturb the sleeping tree gods.
And my dreams are so dark,
pulsating with secrets and shadows,
manifestations of depression
or harbingers of doom?