Reference
Take me to the Slītere coniferous forests,
Once there, mistle Purenes bloom!
I have so often been disappointed in life,
Want something a little clean.

Take me to the island Moritz,
Once there, the oak leaves begin to flourish,
I have so often in this life is a salt,
Will of the sun was once called the nurse.

Lead me from friends, from relatives,
Lead me from the day of the night,
So I spend some years out,
Beyond all that they once found!

Take me. . . I pray and ask
But you wonder and forehead rauc:
I will seem like a small girl,
Who foolishly allowed a lot of leisure.
***

My Man
I believe in my people,
he\'s definitely somewhere,
I do not know just how many years,
the sea, how many miles separate us.
Sometimes it seems - his voice
behind the hill can be heard already,
A closer approach, see -
my man is not there.
Sometimes the heart itself piemāna
and then the same aches and hurts
And more acutely than in the past
by their man thirsty.
And even more than in the past
my people believe -
Which falsely similar
thought it was someone else.
Wrong hands they
I\'m not going to look -
Then, wash donate
red poppies.
The winds tend to say that they had
He scattered many,
That many a drop of
it is necessary to pick yourself up,
But I\'m waiting and I know -
jāslīkst even if I have to -
Come the last wave
Thrown together for us.
***

My Heritage
What would be May without green birch struck,
In September without the chestnuts and Zilema,
What should we Latvia without trees,
Without groves, pine forest without blue stitching?

The roots of the trees shot through the land,
The trees rustling piedziedāts the air.
And glides over the forest ends sun Lemesos,
And roll the moon Wheels Golden ...

What I inherited from my ancestors?
Neither the titles nor the golden rings
As their firs, oaks and maples
Over my lifetime roads wind zuz.

And when you leave me aiznesīsiet
And leave the white sandy hill,
Sometimes I\'ll come a moment too short,
To see
As my trees are in bloom.
***

To make a wish Gaiziņš
Piebalga hills and gentle,
And gray travertine cracks
Mother of the Latvian cheek.

Who wish to have lands
And the husbandman virtues tenacious,
And gardens, and the apple crop,
Latvian language and soft.

And Kr Barona performance
Rucava and colorful woolly,
And every note and a statement
Where the people\'s heart is brightness.

Who wish to have the Daugava
And thought, and organ, Mass.,
And arranging space,
And the pain that I bring to the soul, -

To make a wish. . .
***

I do not believe
I do not believe that it is possible without people
I\'ve always traukusies on them -
The bright windows black autumn night,
The oglītēm extinct under the ashes. . .
I do not believe that it is possible without people
I always hurry to them
The gullibility palm branches in hand,
The loud joy and hidden torment.
I do not believe that people can be free.
I\'ve always burned by them.
Of them all my life affliction
On their indelible traces of light.

• • •

All that was
Had the pure wind.
Not you, me,
Not me, you
Needed. . .
Since we are entangled in the wind,
We went,
And the fate of people
Annoyed.
In the comedy,
It is as a joke -
Ring quiet iedzinkstējās
Hand. . .

I must not miss it
It does not matter where on earth, earth,
The sea or the cloud,
With those who love me or not love,
But clearly one I know.

I should be home in April,
I April jāpārnāk!
Juice of roots in March, would pile up,
Riesties flowers under the snow starts.

But in April, when the bright blue
Over white birches līgst sky,
When the cuckoo call in pine forest,
When the bees leave the hive may be,

Thrives in my garden the first flower,
Plates of flowers butterfly eats
And I need to fly home-
I can not miss it.
***

Dream
I have a dream wee goblin comes
and with me again tiepties begins:
- It makes up to me and so and so -
a coal-black night,
one morning in the coal glow. -
Deliver. But tell me - from what?
- Be a poet - you shall make from scratch.

Please, and then build it yet,
so this morning off to a fairy comes,
to us life is staltumā spruce,
to us life is given by the white,
so we noreibtu of sweetness. . .
I ask again - but from whom?
- Be a poet - you shall make from scratch. -

It takes a coal-black night,
aizkvēl mornings coal glow,
go musicians staltumā spruce,
falling down the white musicians bird-cherry,
\'re noreibis of sweetness. . .
Where is the goblin? Well, how can that be. . .
Everything should start from the end. From scratch.
***

Love
Stay with blood and pany that has paid
As the cranberry, which has not yet been scalded Island,
Stay in my exile, my house,
Nightmares and sleep comforting way.
Our pole is the glue over the posters,
But there was nothing there will not be notified -
Likteņpriekšnieks already have something going,
And the performers are too hard.
I\'ll watch the one flower -
The next moment she gets the lightning.
Life does not give careful
In none of what I wanted.
But you stay. To the horse around the stake
Pulksteņrādītājs trotting around an axis.
At least we both shared a prison,
At least we have a common unaccomplished.
Cherry blossom time, it seemed strange
Now - in the autumn so strange anymore Nava.

***

do not expect gold to bring the bosom,
You are doomed - Lost and found.
The self-existing gainīties:
push, recoil, subject to change.
Change - gold and small change,
bride-of-bounds and the Shroud.
Changed all become zvirgzdaini,
fits just looks dzirkstaini,
of ourselves and today\'s isolation,
burdened with a flair for the future.
Out of the past mixed, not demolished -
sabradā the future flair.
Plok celebrations and dust pouring convenience
and remains one of the true value.
We do not have future noaudis,
but the time of self-harm
The feeling.

***

Is supposed
that even darken
the soul and the stars begin to tighten?
In the moment, been among us
through eternity supposed to last longer.

And finally - what is life?
One Dzīpari time likteņpūrā -
one moment, and in the coolness of blowing
neatgriežamības from the sea.

One moment. Eyes fire glow.
And the other one. Verio dim glass.
And another ship glides away
cruel and disappear in the mist.

It is always the case. And speed hurts.
This brings us to quickly and takes away.
And your eyes are rising
for real hot, salty stars.

And the brilliance of the two melt together
and there\'s another one destroyed
and what the two of us will be
the former as we know it.

Even izbūdams, it remains a sacred
and over both of us quiet thin,
until the last \"why?\"
from our lips will be played.

Thereafter. . . But all this will be after
when the heart is not love anymore, not eliminate,
and a pair of white silence
long since died in a light will shine.

***

... They are what is called the artists,
perfume
collected in the same way around the world
the bees
honey.

And while pollinating
we souls
to those plump seeds
all blooming
continue.
***

Way
At all, and go
I go on foot.

I want to come
and not -
attend.

Without a road tiredness.
Without a road of loneliness.
Without meeting him.
Without longing for you.

I want to come
and not -
uzrasties.

No distance.
Without steps.
Steps without a voice,
who speaks
unutterable.

Yes, I tear off a lot of
soling,
but I much nenoplēšu
people.

***

loneline

I love you
Yellow Madaras,
I will hide
Yellow madars
from the wild cat
Yellow eyes
of dead yellow Valodzes
hide.

I will hide, white,
yellowing of the
and leaving
with a yellow wind.

My dear,
I love you
Yellow madars!
***