I write the native tongue for the boyash...
The night of Friday before the Baron's feast I invite the Roma
and gazhikanò to gather and share company. While the moons
speak that it is time for the cold to begin to give way to the
spring... the seasons wait for the Romani to gather and celebrate.
Let us light fires in the night, hang fabrics from the trees for the wind
to dance in, and carry the blood of the roads nobles home to the
old caravans... the old mahàla.
For too long we have allowed our place in the wheel to be dictated
by others. Let us gather in the moon light, drink, smoke, make song,
and let the seers tell our futures so that we may know what must
be done for the turn of this coming season. Let the Chuvihani tell the
direction of our roads.
-Paetros
