LAST FLIGHT

For Anne Frank

Pain in this night as there is no end

through which tunneled is cry, sob

and a tear fell

on the frozen hand.

These red poppies

in a dead heat they burn, it hurts!

warm sticky drops of blood on the lips

moonbeam peered through the wire,

Story written on an old yellowed paper

attic dream of freedom, it hurts!

Small bird’s broken wing

thwarted in its last flight.

Hurts icy stare into the sky where

it screamed endlessly.

On the steps of decades and centuries,

got lost in the song of birds,

old pictures in your pocket, it hurts!

Memories and vanishing, the vast silence.

                             POSLEDNJI LET

Za Anne Frank

Boli ova noć što kraja nema

kroz koju provučen plač,jecaj

i jedna suza u padu

na promrzli dlan.

Ove crvene bulke

u mrtvoj vatri što gore,bole !

Tople lepljive kapi krvi sa usana,

mesečev zrak kroz žicu provirio,

ispisana priča na starom požutelom papiru,

tavanski san o slobodi, boli !

Slomljeno krilo male ptice

osujećene u svom poslednjem letu.

Boli ledeni pogled u kojem nebo

vrisnulo je u beskraj.

Na stepeništu decenije i vekovi,

zalutali u pesmi ptica,

stare slike u džepu, bole !

Sećanja i nestajanja, nepregledi tišine.