The Apple. The Sun

It has been quite long since fire became
a flaming commercial word:
A name for a fate, for a man, for silhouettes,
for an apple,
for the sun.

We sustain ourselves on imposed past
and vary one and the same image,
one and the same experience
Expirience of a colour, of a dream, of depth...
of a Night;

Expirience of one night,
of one self,
of warmth.

Djordje Brujic

 

(Превод: Стела Ковач)

 

(The Apple. The Sun, Best poems encyclopedia)

Refugees

 

At the intersection of the main street and the only side street, 

At the knot of two opposite directions leading to the same destination,

Anatomy tied us to our dreams as if to an open door 

Or to an opening in the wire fence, one that you do not know if it is 

for your entering or exiting the world 

At the spot of the brisk cut, 

At the age when our ideas did not go further than anarchism, 

In the dusk under the ochre of the sycamore, 

Out of us white waters flew out – the ripples of which circled round the hole

Clamour flooded in like a song of the ripen crops that wave us off with yellowness

A day is franker at dusk. Roads are wider

When approaching the depth woven out of transience;

Closed mouth is a grave secured in stone

From which the unsaid flows out like mist

That forms the vision of suspense hovering over the river of people 

 

Djordje Brujic  

 

(Translated by Stela Kovac)

 

(Refugees, Best poems encyclopedia)