Ti koja imaš ruke nevinije od mojih

You Having Hands More Innocent Than Mine

You having hands more innocent than mine

and being as wise as carelessness.

You, who can read better than I

his loneliness from his brow,

and remove the slow shadows of

hesitance from his face

the way the spring wind removes

the cloud shadows floating above the hill.

If your embrace cheers the heart

and your thighs arrest the pain,

if your name is a repose

to his thoughts, and your throat

a shade to his bed,

and the night of your voice an orchard

still untouched by storms.

Then stay by him

and be more devoted than all

others that loved him before you.

Fear the echo that

approaches innocent love nests.

And be gentle to his dream,

under an invisible mountain

at the edge of the roaring sea.

Walk along his shore. May the sad

porpoises meet you.

Wander through his woods.

Friendly lizards won’t do you

any harm.

And thirsty snakes I tamed

will be humbled before you.

May the birds I warmed

in the nights of hard frost

sing for you.

May the boy I shielded from the spies

on an empty road caress you.

And the flowers I watered with my tears

cover you with their fragrance.

I didn’t witness the best age of his

manhood. I didn’t receive his fruits

in my bosom

that was ravaged by the stares

of cattlemen on the fairs

and greedy robbers.

I will never hold hands of

his children. And the tales

I made for them a long time ago

will tell to poor little bears

left in black forest.

You having hands more innocent than mine,

be gentle to his dream

that remained innocent.

But let me see his face while

unknown years descend upon it.

And tell me sometimes the things

about him,

so I don’t need to ask

astonished strangers,

and the neighbours that pity

my patience.

You having hands more innocent than mine,

stay by his headrest

and be gentle to his dream!

(translated by Božica Cvjetković)