Mairg darab galar an grádh...

Este poema està en irlandès, un idioma y un paìs que siempre me ha interesado, espero les guste.

In Irish (irlandès)

Mairg darab galar an grádh,
gibé fath fá n-abraim é
is deacair sgarthain re a pháirt;
truagh an cás a bhfuilim féin.

An grádh-soin tugas gan fhios,
ós é mo leas gan a luadh,
muna fhaghad furtacht tráth,
biaidh mo bhláth go tana truagh.

An fear-soin dá dtugas grádh,
's nách féadaim a rádh ós aird,
dá gcuire sé mise i bpéin,
go madh dó féin bhus céad mairg!


In English

Love is a sad sickness
When speaking to him, whatever the cause,
it is a hardship to separate after time together.
Pity my own blood's case.

This love of mine came without my knowledge;
my benefits came over him without mention.
For us delay departure an hour,
if my flower would, till a time of pity.

This man of mine -- love came, for him,
and I cannot say from what direction;
though buried, it's myself in pain,
till I burn myself with a hundred sorrows!

 

Absolutely Fantastic! And how is it that you learned such a wonderful language? I congratulate you, and thank you for the English translation, or I would have never been able to understand it! Please don't disappear, we need more creativity in foreign languages here!
jaguey

 

Thank you for reading me, it's nice to know people who is intested in other languages. I fell in love with Ireland when I visited it, it amazing, mysterious...beautiful. The language is almost dead, but some people from inside Ireland still want to keep it, and they try not to lose it, I bought some books and dictionaries, also in Celtic, and that is how I made it.
Kisses! see u here!

 

I am also in love with Ireland and its rainy highlands...

¿Love is a sickness? The worse of all in deed.

I will continue reading you.