Isus u posjeti kod nas

O Isuse, kad dođeš, u koliko bilo sati,

u naš propali i opustjeli dom,

dobrodošlicu tebi ću zapjevati,

skupa sa svojom vedrom sestricom.

Pjevajući, od tvoje blizine sva bijela,

iznijet će ona preda te so i kruh.

Po starom običaju naših sela,

kada im u kuću stigne mio duh.

Tada će te moja sestrica odvesti

do skromnog jela, koje krasi stol.

– O Isuse dragi, izvoli samo sjesti

i odložiti svoj šešir i oreol.−

Tako će ti ona reći i nato će

stati preda te, u svetom bolu.

I puna čiste, nebeske samoće

o klin će objesiti tvoju aureolu.

Neka nam svu noć sija, mjesto uljenice,

koju palimo pred svaki mark.

Od sjaja ćemo kriti svoje lice,

Tako će njen blijesak biti jak.

II.

Poslije ćemo te povesti u dvorište, noseći

Ispred nas tvoje aureole žar.

I pri toj, od nebeskog sjaja svijeći,

Pokazat ćemo ti pusti naš hambar.

I staje prazne, u kojima se suše

Otkosi davni, ko cvijeće na groblju.

U ponoći tu dođu mrtvih konja duše.

Čuješ ih kako nevidljivu zob zoblju.

Pokazat ćemo ti I stado magle bijele,

Koje se provlači kroz živicu svježu.

O Isuse, to naše ovce izgorjele,

mrtve dolaze I u tor liježu.

Onda ćemo konja jedinog upregnuti,

Da te provozamo kroz naš mali grad.

Nad njim se nebo nisko uvijek muti.

Pod njim prigušeno tutnji vodopad.

Ako me upitaš, dok naše staro kljuse

Bude plašila kraj puta šaš:

- Koja je ovo zemlja? – Kazat ću:

O Isuse, pa to je Bosna, ti to znaš.

III.

A poslije, kad i pijetlima bude sneno,

osjetit ćemo kako tvoja glava

spušta se čas na moje rame, čas na

njeno,

I silno nas obasjava.

I u to doba zemaljskih kasnih sati

pjevat će ti moja sestrica blagim glasom.

O Isuse, ti ćeš tada zadrijemati,

izmoren konja tromim kasom.

I koji put, kad magla bude snježno

sipila na tvoje sveto ruho,

stavit će ti na glavu, sasvim nježno,

oreol, koji ti je pao na jedno uho

Jesus Visiting Us

Oh Jesus, no matter when you come,

in our home, ruined and desolate,

I will sing you a hearty welcome

together with my little sister bright.

Singing, all white from nearness yours,

she will offer to you bread and salt:

an ancient village custom of ours

when we have a visiting dear soul.

Then you will be taken by my little sister

to the simple fare adorning the table.

-Oh, dear Jesus, please sit there

And take off your hat and your halo.-

She will say this and she will then

stand in holy pain before you.

And full of pure loneliness of heaven

on a peg hang your halo true.

Let it shine all the darkness through

instead of the oil lamp we light each night.

We’ll have to cover our faces blue

so strong will be its shiny light.

Later we’ll take you to the yard, toting

before us your halo’s shine true.

And with this celestial light glowing,

our empty barn we’ll show you.

And empty stables with the drying hay

like on a tomb pretty flowers.

Here at midnight horses’ souls arrive.

You can hear them nibble invisible oats.

We’ll show you a flock of misty white

crawling through the newly grown hedge.

Oh Jesus, our burnt sheep in the night,

Come here and lie in the pen though dead.

And we shall harness the only horse

to take a ride through our town small.

The sky is always low and overcast,

and under it booms a muffled waterfall.

And should you ask me, as our nag old

drives on, afraid of swaying reeds, though,

-Which land is it? I will say quite bold:

Oh, Jesus, it is just Bosnia, you know.

III

And later, when even roosters sleep,

we'll feel your head slowly slip

onto shoulder mine, or hers in turn,

its strong shine will constantly keep.

And at that earthly hour late

the sister will for you softly sing.

Oh, Jesus, you will doze off then

tired of the sluggish trot's ring.

Occasionally, as fog turns to snow

gathering on your holy dress,

She will cover your head with the halo

slipped on your ear, with utmost tenderness.

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