Poetry

Poetry

Istanbul
Encounter
96
Buenos Aires
The Master of Skopje

It’s getting dark
I fix myself a whiskey
in a while
Skopje will fall asleep
Gradski zid will sleep
the broad houses on 29 Noemvri will sleep
the Bazaar will sleep
and the Albanian inscriptions in Cyrillic
that will be gone when their owners die
your goodness too will sleep, my friend,
the barbells of my bodyguards will sleep in the gym
my living room is the home to all of your problems
here, where, they say, the Renaissance started
I start a new Baroque lying
the monuments too will fall asleep
Nikola Karev on his horse will fall asleep
The Vardar will fall asleep as a composer
and this high grandstand under which Vasil Ringov once sat in the shade
where talents grew immature in the sun
as Samoniknati, as the Tobacco Pickers
as you and I should be together
Jazz and you,
the crazy ideas about the bagpipes-techno connection will sleep
all of this sleeps in my bedroom,
and only the bad people can think that I am not good.

You can say anything but my patriotism is proven
the cross above my head is the biggest plus for our economy,
although the poets make fun, claiming that it is
a certain sign that these are graveyards.
I speak the language of my enemy
almost perfectly.
Just don’t tell me
that the black, dark dungeon
at Idrizovo incarcerates a man
and his daughter,
what was I supposed to do let him doubt my affairs,
betray me,
everything that you see around is my vision.
Skopje will fall asleep and the story about the king who died
when he saw his army blinded
and whose opponent kept all
of his descendants at the court.
It is dark.
I am the master of Skopje and no matter how I end up
you should know that I did everything for your own good.
Sleep now, Skopje,
I won’t, because there is a lot of unfinished work,
a cigar waits for me, burning down slowly,
like the patience of the people.

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