Weíll be sailing with the high morning tide, When the ocean and the sky open wide. We will take whatever fate has in store, Even if we never make it to shore. Climb the mast and make it fast, old mate. Tell me, where will you and I land? Probably the mainland - but wait! Maybe itís my Blue Island. Those who have too much to lose turn around, Do the reckoning and choose solid ground. As for us, with just the shirt on our back, We are glad to trade the port for the deck. When they say, "Heís gone around the bend", You just smile and keep silent. Some make do with any old land, Others need their own island. An old pirate said, "Itís all in your head! Iíll believe it when I see it, me lad!" Pirate, when the spiritís weak, eyes are blind. I believe that if I seek, I shall find! Through the mist, the long awaited shore. Rub the doubt from your eyelids. What is it, the mainland once more? Or is this my Blue Island?
© Mika Tubinshlak. Translation, 2009
© Mika Tubinshlak. Performance, 2009