A BULLET FOR A POET
by AMIR KNEŽEVIĆ
A neglected jagged Sarajevo Czech tram
on it is written that God is with us
beneath the holes from the bullets
On my shelf, a book, on its cover, a photo
gazes from it Charles Baudelaire*
he sees Vraca and Dedinje
but who cares, he knows it as well
why it is not in the least fair
A neglected jagged Sarajevo Czech tram
on it is written that God is with us
beneath the holes from the bullets
On my shelf, a book, on its cover, a photo
gazes from it Charles Baudelaire*
he sees Vraca and Dedinje
but who cares, he knows it as well
why it is not in the least fair
Casts his look, Charles, over Skenderia
behind it, grown the flowers of evil
roots in the hearts are deep
knows it Charles, and I know too
In the book, on each lithography
a hole at the forefront of the Poet
and within the text, and calligraphy
a hole through the verses, to the very bottom
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