Рет қаралды 12,964
Vida Triste
Nynke Laverman
Ivige drôvens ferneare
moat elts dy't him te bot oan't leavjen wijt;
nea wie myn hert by steat te kearen,
de leafde dy't troch de siel snijt.
Op 'e nij socht myn tramtearre hert
fergees dyn boarst en lis him dêr ta rêste.
't Raast om treast foar in toarstich ferlet,
troch lust net te dwêsten.
Eltse died moat men belije
ûntkomme oan boetsjen kin men nea,
oant de gleonens fan it lêste swiete frijen
fertarret yn'e dea.
Hoe lang kin men soms omearmje,
ien kear is de tiid wer oer;
kin men himsels dan nea beskermje
en deadzje dat ferflokte fjoer?
Ik wit: leafde is sûnde.
Straf giet dêrom net oan my foarby:
Foar ivich wurdt myn hert ferwûne
troch immen dy't nea joech om my.
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Endless sadness bear
will anyone who loves too much;
never was my heart able to resist
the love that cuts trough the soul.
Again my tortured heart searches
in vain your breast and lays him there to rest.
It's screaming for solace for a thirsty wanting,
not quenched by lust.
One has to pay for every action
escaping the suffering is impossible,
until the passion of the last sweet carress
rots in death.
How long can one embrace sometimes,
it will be over one day;
can you never protect yourself
and kill that cursed fire?
I know: love is sin.
So punishment will not pass me:
Forever my heart is wounded
by someone who never cared about me.