Divan

Divan

Russians never…
Ararat
A Transition Poem
Brdo
Renault 4
Crap
Museum
Fatima and a Poet
Hands
Divan
The one who becomes suspicious…
To me…
Good poetry…
Crown
A Long Poem

On the New Year’s Day
I went to Mercator.
While my
silhouette was relentlessly
filling the shopping cart,
my ego took up
the question,
unworthy of a poet of my
kind. Why are my poems
getting shorter and the cashier
queues longer every day?
And since, of course, it couldn’t
find the answer, it returned
to the silhouette pushing the cart.
The silhouette admitted:
sometimes I’ve got nothing else to do,
so I remember Kaliningrad,
remember all those people,
who are too good
and too happy to think so
egoistically as you do,
buying food
on the New Year’s Day. And then
it hid itself, like it always does,
when being honest, and I remained
alone with my cart, wondering
why the queue is getting
shorter and this poem so long.

AuthorEsad Babačić
2018-08-21T17:23:06+00:00 October 17th, 2007|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 56|0 Comments