I curse you to love
I curse you to love
so that no verse or note
for her
isn’t good enough
for the rest of your life.
I curse you to love
so that nothing you do
isn’t good enough
for her,
no matter how hard you try.
I curse you
that you love
so that you talk to yourself
and build towers of cards,
without having words
when you are with her.
I curse you
that you love
so that you can't wait to fall asleep,
with the hope that
she will sneak in there
and that hurts you every morning,
because you don't know
if it happened
or you dreamed.
I curse you
to love like that
to look for her
in every passer-by on the street,
in every sound,
in every picture.
I curse you to love
so that it hurts
when the other loves you,
that it hurts when
anyone loves anyone.
I curse you to love
so that everything you do
you do for her sake
and she isn't there,
because she is deaf and mute
for you.
I curse you
that you love
so that with the hot glow of your eyes
you light your sleepless nights
and open all the paths,
except the one
that leads to her.
I curse you to love
so that you wake up guilty
every morning,
without knowing
what you did wrong.
Her trembling hand
that weaves the threads
into the web of love,
to warm you on lonely nights,
I curse you
to be before your eyes
all the time.
That silent silhouette
that lets you go,
while, within herself,
screams for you to come back,
I curse you
to pop out before your eyes
whenever you call her name.
Dabogda volio
dabogda volio
da nijedan stih ni nota
za nju nije dovoljno dobra
do kraja tvog života
dabogda volio
da ništa što budeš radio
za nju ne bude dovoljno dobro
ma koliko se trudio
dabogda volio
da sam sa sobom pričaš
i kule od karata gradiš
a da pred njom riječi nemaš
dabogda volio
da jedva čekaš da utoneš u san
s nadom da će se ona tu ušunjati
i da te boli svako jutro
jer ne znaš je li se dogodilo
ili ti se snilo
dabogda volio
da je pogledom tražiš
u svakom prolazniku na ulici
u svakom zvuku, u svakoj slici
dabogda volio
da boli kad te druga voli
da te boli kad
bilo ko bilo koga voli
dabogda volio
da sve što radiš
zbog nje radiš
a nje nema
jer je za tebe
i gluha i nijema
dabogda volio
da usijanim žarom očiju
osvjetljavaš svoje noći besane
i krčiš sve pute
osim onog koji do nje vodi
dabogda volio
da svakog jutra budiš se kriv
a da ne znaš šta si skrivio
ona uzdrhtala ruka
koja niti upliće
u ljubavi tkanje
da te grije u usamljenim noćima
dabogda ti stalno bila pred očima
ona nijema silueta
koja te pušta da odeš
dok u sebi vrišti da se vratiš
dabogda ti iskočila pred oči
kad god joj se imenom obratiš
The last beats of summer
Fresh flowers in a vase,
next to the dried one
precious flower
since last summer,
morning fogs and night frost,
toothy sun,
streets full of people,
a house full of warmth,
basket full of fruit
- all echoes of painful silence.
At night
in my alley is darkness and desolation,
only the puddles glitter
like lamps.
I'm listening
droplets ratling jingling,
Car brakes creaks ...
Maybe, someone knoks
at my door too.
That's how it happens
when it seem, like a naive child,
you fall in love
on the threshold of fifty-fifth.
You open yourself like a book,
show hopes, fears, worries ...
You bloom like a rose in the fall,
spread your arms wide
not knowing that
you are hugging north wind.
With a heart in an extended hand,
with dreams in the wounded soul,
with the letters in the open book,
with a tear in each petal
say farewell, say goodbye!
Wake up, grow up!
No matter how painful it is
to walk alone,
don't come back
in that summer any more!
Zadnji otkucaji ljeta
Svježe cvijeće u vazi
pokraj sasušenog jednog
dragog cvijeta
od prošlog ljeta,
jutarnje magle i noćni mraz,
zubato sunce,
ulice pune svijeta,
kuća puna topline,
košara puna voća
-sve odzvanja od bolne tišine.
Noću
u mom sokaku je mrak i pustoš,
samo barice svjetlucaju
k'o lampice.
Osluškujem
zveckanje kapljica,
škripu kočnica...
Možda i na moja vrata
neko pokuca.
Tako to biva
kad se k'o naivno dijete
zaljubiš
na pragu pedeset pete.
Otvoriš se poput knjige,
pokažeš nade, strahove, brige...
Procvjetaš k'o jesenja ruža,
ruke širom raširiš
ne znajući da sjeverac grliš.
Sa srcem u ruci pruženoj,
sa snima u duši ranjenoj,
sa slovima u knjizi otvorenoj,
sa suzom u svakoj latici
pozdravi se, oprosti!
Probudi se, odrasti!
Ma kako bolno bilo
sam koračati,
nemoj se više
u to ljeto vraćati!
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