Poetry In Small Language
Cork, Ireland
is like a church bell
in some remote village
tolling mutely in the evening
through the musty provincial air
self-obliviously
and quite self-sufficiently
– one might add –
if it weren’t for the pair of those
ragged sheep
huddled before the rain
on the empty lot
in front of a stone barn
bobbing their whitish little heads
here and there
just to let you know
that regardless of medium
the message will always
arrive at the destination.
translated by the author and Majda Bakočević