Return from Guard Duty
The Mist
Pascal’s Theorem
A note (my whole life)
Trench No. 3

Translated by: Almir Chomor

I try to be busy
not to think of It.

I try to prattle about trifles
about girls, with red dyed hair
who challenge bulls
with a fascinating turn of a toreador,

and flies in a sad horse eye,
and a scent, preserved in a forgotten coat.

In peace pensioners die
as if I have lived too long since the war began,
as if I should have died long ago,
but something is being awaited,
in the kitchen, round the radio,
as by the hearth that has died out.

AuthorAsmir Kujović
2018-08-21T17:23:28+00:00 September 1st, 2003|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 34|0 Comments