№ 1

ona 

tužno pakuje zimske stvari u ormar 

pokušava da se seti 

gde je izgubila prošlu godinu 

prošlu godinu 

koja je prva i poslednja za mnogo toga 

on 

nalakćen na krevetu 

piše beznačajne patetične stihove koji se čak 

ni ne rimuju 

a ustvari pokušava da se seti 

kako i gde je dođavola izgubio prošlu godinu 

prilazi prozoru proleće je 

ulica je mračna i više nema one svetlosti zlatne 

i zrnaste s drvene bandere 

one svetlosti što miriše na svež vruć hleb 

i na zimu 

sećaš se da smo pre nekog vremena planirali 

da otputujemo u pariz 

a još uvek nismo otputovali 

zajedno 

kažeš kafa ti se hladi 

dobro je pisati poeziju 

uvek pri ruci imaš papirić na koji možeš da 

spustiš koštice iz knedli sa šljivama 

she

sadly packing winter clothes in the closet

trying to remember

where has she lost the past year

which was the first and last for many things

he

leaning against the bed

writes meaningless pathetic verses which do not even rhyme

but actually trying to remember

how and where the heck did he lose the past year

he comes closer to the window it’s spring time

the street is dark and there is no more light, golden and grainy, from the wooden pole

that light that smells of fresh warm bread

and of winter

do you remember that some time ago we planned to travel to paris

and we still haven’t gone

together

you say your tea is getting cold

it’s good to write poetry

you always have at hand a little piece of paper on which you can put the seeds from the plum dumplings

(translated by Lilith Adams)