Matija Beckovic - If you were to leave this city

 If you were to leave this city

Over whose shoulder would I put my left arm

While I'd be showing hillsides of faraway mounts with my left one, saying: 

"The nature is bustling with my views of the world".

With whom would I stop under a cracked walnut tree saying:

"This walnut tree might be growing my coffin

It was planted when I was a kid"

For whom would I stop these words to say something joyful,

Though I don't know what I could say

Of this entire woods and other elements!

With whom would I return to the city, proud as I am in my poems,

To whom would I tell of the clock-maker who lives in the ground

And about my middle ear which is thick as sugar.

With whom would I raise my head toward pathless skies,

To whom would I show goat tracks among the stars.

Whose teeth would ring like a frozen apple in a wheat chaff

With whom would I mention: taiga, snow on Etna, people in dungeons.

White bird in the snow, a barleymow of snow in the water,

To whom would I tell how I feel as if

Stones are boiling in the Ararat river

And who would love me for that?

Today everyone knows I was thinking of you when I said:

"She says to the balcony, 'I love you'

And the balcony falls down in that very moment". 

Postmen all around the world would be bringing the same old letter

While a rich-haired beast naps in the dumb warmness of Tibet

And whatever Moon walks over drifts.

With whom would I talk against everyone, long into the night,

And who would love me for that?

If you were to leave this city,

I'd be talking in vain:

My words wouldn't apply to anyone.