At night, in my alley is darkness and desolation, only the puddles glitter like lamps.
[author title=”Selma Kopić ” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/Selma-Kopic-Bosnia-Sindh-Courier.jpg”]Selma Kopić is a Professor of Bosnian Language and Literature. Born in 1962 in Tuzla, Bosnia and Herzegovina, she is the author of two textbooks and one workbook for primary school. She worked as a coach, reviewer and proofreader. Her stories and poems have been awarded and entered anthologies in Bosnia Herzegovina (BiH) and around the world. [/author]
The last beats of summer
Fresh flowers in a vase,
Next to the dried one
Precious flower
Since last summer,
Morning fogs and night frost,
Toothy sun,
Streets full of people,
A house full of warmth,
Basket full of fruit
-All echoes of painful silence.
At night
In my alley is darkness and desolation,
Only the puddles glitter
Like lamps.
I’m listening
Droplets rattling jingling,
Car-brakes creaks
Maybe, someone knocks
At my door too!
That’s how it happens
When it seem, like a naive child,
You fall in love
On the threshold of fifty-fifth
You open yourself like a book,
Show hopes, fears, worries
You bloom like a rose in the fall,
Spread your arms wide
Not knowing that
You are hugging north wind.
With a heart in an extended hand,
With dreams in the wounded soul,
With the letters in the open book,
With a tear in each petal
Say farewell, say goodbye!
Wake up, grow up!
No matter how painful it is
To walk alone,
Don’t come back
In that summer anymore!
***
Zadnji otkucaji ljeta
Svježe cvijeće u vazi
pokraj sasušenog jednog
dragog cvijeta
od prošlog ljeta,
jutarnje magle i noćni mraz,
zubato sunce,
ulice pune svijeta,
kuća puna topline,
košara puna voća
– sve odzvanja od bolne tišine.
Noću
u mom sokaku je mrak i pustoš,
samo barice svjetlucaju
k’o lampice.
Osluškujem
zveckanje kapljica,
škripu kočnica…
Možda i na moja vrata
neko pokuca.
Tako to biva
kad se k’o naivno dijete
zaljubiš
na pragu pedeset pete.
Otvoriš se poput knjige,
pokažeš nade, strahove, brige…
Procvjetaš k’o jesenja ruža,
ruke širom raširiš
ne znajući da sjeverac grliš.
Sa srcem u ruci pruženoj,
sa snima u duši ranjenoj,
sa slovima u knjizi otvorenoj,
sa suzom u svakoj latici
pozdravi se, oprosti!
Probudi se, odrasti!
Ma kako bolno bilo
sam koračati,
nemoj se više
u to ljeto vraćati!
___________________
