Molitva
Molitva Oče naš
senko sveta seda pogurena
na drvenoj ragi.
Sa loncem razbijenim na glavi
i očima punim vetrenjača plavih.
Oče naš
sin tvoj je bedniji od bilja,
strasniji nego cvet,
nestalniji nego vetar zore,
sumorniji nego more,
i sam, sasvim sam.
Oče naš
sin tvoj je bolji nego anđeli
ali nikom pomoći ne može.
Ljubi krpe kao zlatnu krunu
a u osmehu krije toliku zabunu
koliko je nema u proleću i majci.
Oče naš
ali sin tvoj nema više moći
da se u štalama na putu u noći
ičem od smrti nada.
Prayer
Our father
the holy shadow, grey-haired and bent
on a wooden horse.
With a broken jar on your head
and the eyes full of blue windmills.
Our father
your son is more pitiable than the plants,
more passionate than the flower
and versatile than the early morning wind;
gloomier than the sea,
and alone, utterly alone.
Our father
your son is better than angels
but can not help anyone.
He kisses the rags like they were a golden crown
and in his smile hides a puzzle
larger than the one in the mother, or the spring.
Our father
but your son has no longer strength
in the stables, on the dark roads at night
to expect anything more from death.