The heart is hard to translate
The girl was forgetting about the world as she danced and the desert was listening to her movements. Her naked feet flew above the orange sand and her ink-black hair spread out in the air behind her like the wings of a raven. She was singing an ancient lullaby, but she was the last on Earth who could understand its words. Yet, as I closed my eyes, I could see sentences falling into nebulae and soaring with shooting stars; diving into the depth of coral forests and spreading their sunflower petals on the cinnamon-colored palm of the girl. I wish I could describe all the other things I had seen, but the Indian girl was the last one who spoke the language of the Heart and as soon as she finished her dance, she turned into a raven and flew away.
Fanni Suto is a 24-year-old writer, poet, dreamer who believes in fairy tales even if they are dark, disenchanted and deconstructed. She writes about everything which comes her way or goes bump in the night. She has been published in Hungary, the US, the UK, and Australia.
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