Tagged “Village Life”
Browse Tagged “Village Life” from the Canadian Macedonian Heritage Society archive, library and community collections.
My Village
From a young age I loved This village In its irrigation channels I grew up Playing in the water And when the sun came out From behind the mountain Barefoot yet happy I welcomed it And when dawn softly broke At the edge of the village It was the start of an endless Summer day Bread and salt we ate But like little children We asked nothing We had freedom Riding on my little donkey In the cool ...
The Walk
After sixth grade Our minds were on the village stroll In our Sunday best To steal a little look The girls, arm in arm One in red, one in blue We didn’t know if they were enchanting us Or making fun of us After so many walks The girls didn’t enchant us What enchanted us were the smells from the bakery And we searched our pockets for drachmas And like the fox With the unripe grapes We set our ...
Grandista Came Tumbling Down
In Grandista, three young maidens Were gathering chamomile. They heard some thunderclaps Before the sun had set. On the ridge of Eleo lightning flashed, In Strebreno it thundered, In Zelenich rain was falling, And Gurlo could not contain it. The rain grew stronger, The rocks began to roll, The torrent swelled and raged, Flooding all the fields. They climbed upon a hillside, Trying to save ...
Civil War
Just before midnight, on a summer night, our windows half-open, yet not a single word was heard. From the mountain opposite the moon was rising. A shadow appeared in the alley beside the marketplace. Footsteps were heard in haste, heading toward the river. Someone had gone to fetch Babo Geraka, the midwife. Labour pains seized the mother, and she said her prayer. She wished for nothing else but ...
The Return to the Village
The bell rings in celebration, Autumn of forty-nine. The war has ended, But our village has grown smaller. Many children were killed, Others disappeared. Houses abandoned, Houses in ruins. Children lost their mothers, They lost their companions; Countless untouched bodies Lie in the mountains and hills. We returned back to the village, To our beautiful neighbourhoods, To sleep again in our homes, ...
The 1950s
That decade Was very important. We carried great hope, Without having any worries. The worries belonged to our parents — Though we never knew it. They did whatever had to be done With only what remained to them. We did not have much money, And we did not need it. Whoever had a little bread Shared it with everyone. We played skrumbousta in the streets, With stones and broken slabs; In the fields ...
The Wells of the Village
In every house in the village There was a well. Some had theirs more shallow, Others reached into deep darkness. We did not drink the water, Nor did we use it in our food. We only washed our feet with it, And watered the courtyard. In summer it was cool, And we lowered the watermelons inside. In winter it was lukewarm; We watered the donkeys with it. And some of them, as they say, Even had ...
Before Darkness Fell
Little Dimitroula ran in haste. She slipped and fell into the well, And like Gerakina , she too Let out a great cry. Her mother’s voice was heard — Terror had overcome her. The father threw himself Into the deep well to save her. A passing priest came running, Trampling the leeks as he rushed. He too wished to jump inside, But his robes held him back. The priest began to pray, Looking high toward ...
