Тranslated by the author and Miljenko Kovačićek
the wall we leaned to is a thin one; as if it was
made of cardboard. even for the smallest child
and a hundred years old grandpa it would be
a cinch to make a hole in it with a shaky fist.
they are tracking us. small eyes neatly arranged
in the firing squad. tracking us again. pointing and
reloading. it would be a lie to say it does not hit
you. it hits me too. at the chest. it sets my heart free.
you shoot up alone setting your thoughts free; one
by one. it hits you. a great view opens through the hole
on your forehead. we are full of holes. our holes are
full of hope, their hope, and we are their heroes. man!
we’ve been used again. tiny eyes neatly arranged
in the firing squad are now looking through us, saluting.
it’s too late now, when it has finally dawned on us
that one needs a lot of courage even for defeat.