Poetry

Poetry

Istanbul
Encounter
96
Buenos Aires
The Master of Skopje

Translated from Bosnian by Elizabeta Bakovska

The birds take off in time again today,
but I have nothing to learn,
for I too was taught not to think
that
you are here just as long as I need
to survive.
Until the next love. Until the next death.
You say: the birds do not fly long today, but they take off in time.
And I no longer ask, anything.
Back then, the Golden Horn looked like an ideal place for Moses’s path
through the sea. And yet I departed, on the opposite side
again, seeing for yet another time that being loved is
but a different name for an addiction.

AuthorAhmed Burić
2018-08-21T17:22:34+00:00 November 12th, 2015|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 101-102|0 Comments