My Page - Mythica Publishing

My Page - Mythica Publishing

LETTER TO A WARRIOR FROM AN UPRIGHT TOMBSTONE

You have your big stone
Decorated with a picture of a soldier
You have your bow and arrow
Your sword and shield
You have your knightly clothing
You have it all
All that was yours
All that was left from you

You are independent on your soil
I am independent on what is not mine
You are foreign to yours
I am a foreigner to mine
I will never have my stone
Decorated with a picture of a soldier
I will never have my bow and arrow
No sword
No shield
No knightly clothing
Not even what was mine
Not even what will be left from me
I will only have a word
And what is left from it

You will eternally stand defending the homeland
And I will dream of the homeland
Where my footsteps were erased long ago
My stone will not be there
Nor my words
Nothing will be named after me
No words
No letters
Nothing will be known about me
No words
No letters

A word
Alone like that
Tiny
But very lethal
More lethal then a bow and arrow
More lethal then a sword
It will exist somewhere else
But that is not important to you
Just as your bow and arrow are not important to me

Your sword and your shield
With which you dreamt about freedom
They passed their judgment on you
He who lives by something dies by the same thing

You did not know
And you will never know
Freedom is something else
And nobody can give it to you

It is locked into a letter
Locked into a word
I know who keeps the key
And word
And letter

HEROES LONERS

What are 133 heroes doing here
133 loners
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the day
Without screams
And without a voice
Are they guarding my homeland
Or showing coiled grapevines
Perhaps embroidered lace
Shields and swords
Bows and arrows
Spears and spiked clubs
Crosses
Or illustrating humanity and charm
Or are they teaching us how to write the Bosnian Cyrillic script
BROTHERHOOD
HARMONY
EQUALITY
UNITY

What are 133 heroes doing here
133 loners
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the day
Without screams
And without a voice

Are green waters of the rivers that connect us
Guarding the silence and peace dominating necropolis
Or are they illustrating humanity and charm
Of some distant times
Teaching us to write the Bosnian Cyrillic script
And how to live together
And
How we have to protect our homeland
From ourselves

And
How to remain human beings
And to exist
On this rocky
And generous
Barefoot and dry
Above all proud
On this common homeland

We were born on the stone
And we are going to lie under the stone

ENIGMA FROM THE STONE

Victors write history
You wrote nothing down
In morning twilight
About your battle
And your victory
You just left

Never a word about you
Never a letter
A small simple letter
Not in the Bosnian Cyrillic script
Not in Latin characters
Not in the Glagolitic alphabet
Not in the Cyrillic alphabet

Where did the letters go?
Where did the words go?
We know about you
You remained on your soil
Generous
For which one day you disappeared
In gray stone ashes

You left without a letter
And without a word
And left the colossal wound
For new generations
You left all your pain
Buried in silence

You are enigma from the stone
And enigma under the stone
Why did you so skillfully hide it all
You escaped from yourself
But you could not escape from us
We found you under this large stone coffin
He told us about you
And about your life
About your secrets
He told us about all your loves
About Stamena
About Kosara
About Jelena
About Ivana
About Jovana
And about…about …about
We now know all we could find out
We know that it is not the end
And because of this we will discover every day
The enigma part by part

We discovered you
You resurrected in our letter
In our word
We won
We are writing history
And you are helping even unwillingly
In our victory

Now you know
You can run away from yourself
But you cannot run away from us.