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A poem called The Bitch by Russian poet Sergei Yesenin. Translated by Vedran Prlac, voiceover by Vedran Prlac. This morning, early in the barn, where golden straw gleamed in the corner, she birthed seven pups, her gentle charm. Red and yellow, their fur grew warmer. Long she nuzzled them, softly tending, licking frost with tender care. Snowy waters, never-ending, flowed beneath her body there. In the evening, as night grew near, the hens to their perches climbed. The master came, his face severe, and took the pups in a sack confined. Through snowy trails she ran, she barked, following tracks her heart aflame. The water’s tremor gently marked the life she nurtured, now in pain. And as she returned, her strength now gone, her flanks were frosty worn from strife. The moon above, before the dawn, seemed like her puppy brought to life. She looked at the heavens, blue and vast, and whimpered softly on the road. The moon sank slowly, fading fast beyond the forest, its heavy load. And silent as if it had flown, like a stone cast down from the steep, her dog’s eyes fell, like stars alone, golden in the snow to sleep. Source: Background video: Music: ’amour Buy me a coffee:
