Children of the Mari Forest

A cycle of poems «Whispers of Mari El»

In the heart of the Mari, where the ancient trees stand, 
Whispers of the spirits drift across the land. 
We danced in the moonlight, our laughter like the breeze, 
Now shadows of sorrow haunt the rustling leaves. 

Oh, children of the Mari forest, hear our mournful cry, 
The echoes of our ancestors beneath the endless sky. 
With each fallen leaf, a story left untold, 
In the silence of the woodland, our memories grow cold. 

The rivers once sang of our joy and our pride, 
Now they carry secrets where the lost souls reside. 
The fire’s warm glow has dimmed to a flicker, 
As we search for the light that grows ever thicker. 

Oh, children of the Mari forest, hear our mournful cry, 
The echoes of our ancestors beneath the endless sky. 
With each fallen leaf, a story left untold, 
In the silence of the woodland, our memories grow cold. 

We were guardians of nature, with roots intertwined, 
But the hands of fate severed what was once divine. 
As we gather in twilight, beneath the starry dome, 
We call to the spirits to guide us back home. 

The drums of our forebears beat deep in our hearts, 
Reminding us gently that we’re never apart. 
Yet the shadows keep creeping, and the darkness draws near, 
For every lost child is a reason to fear. 

Oh, children of the Mari forest, hear our mournful cry, 
The echoes of our ancestors beneath the endless sky. 
With each fallen leaf, a story left untold, 
In the silence of the woodland, our memories grow cold. 

So we raise up our voices to the winds of despair, 
In hopes that our sorrow will reach them somewhere. 
For as long as we gather and sing through the night, 
The spirit of the forest will guide us with light.