Dubrovaèka zvona

The Bells of Dubrovnik

Who’s spilling the beans to me,
Salty and bitter on the wound,
The tears burn me enough, I’ve put out the City in them.
I’ll bend my wounded arm and a jewel will shine on my palm,
Today when the candles are lit, a prayer, defiance, and despair.

When the bells of Dubrovnik ring
And announce peace to their people,
St. Blaise will step down from his throne
And come down from the altar to Stradun in a dance.

When the old city bells chime,
Konavle, they’ll carry their song,
Echoing from Čilipi to Ston,
Just to momentarily quiet all the rage.

In their sound will be my Konavle and Župa,
The babble and the children’s laughter while silence reigns by the hearth.
They’ll extend a bronze hand, and we’ll set off together
To the courtyard of the green paradise, from which the people were exiled.