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Traditional Macedonian poetry
The Macedonian folk poem "Sick Dojchin" describes Dojchin as a warrior who rises from his death-bed to fight against tyranny.
Sick Dojchin (Bolen Dojchin)
When I was in my strength that rushed like a swollen river
When I felt fit for my labour
Worthy of glory
When my voice was strong enough for the deepest word
My arm for the heaviest sword
My feet for the surest steps
Then I was broken
I fell like an overladen cherry tree
A mocking shadow marked my tracks
A snake into a hollow grave
It haunted my laughter, it blenched my sorrow
So I should look about me suspiciously and reflect
Then I felt myself funny absurd mean
My strength melted from me
My arms became tired
My sword fell
I fell ill
'I have been ill for nine years
I have worn out nine beds'
I cannot feel my joints
I am scattered over hard turf
Over a hellish noon hill
I am dismembered
Through my bones grass has sprouted
Through that grass snakes are hatching
I long for a dark cool grave
There is no end without my appointed labour
O unknown woman
Sister, mother, you who have suffered much
You who have known every anguish
Come, my golden sister
Gather up my mouldering bones, don't shudder
Put me together
Bind me with three hundred ells of linen
Speak a soft word
Set me upright
Teach me to walk again, mother
Give me my sword in my hand
That I may kill the Black Knight
That I may die
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