Treasure Island

Hasan Haskovic

(30.12.1997 / Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina)

Barbed Dreams


Stoic, unshaken
In the minutes before sunset
Phlegmatic, upset
With the sky lit and live

Once the warmth blissful dissipates
And the songs of the birds
Are directed to where silence burns
Cold whispers and icy talons
Burden my thoughts
The turmoil starts
Promises of wounds
Which would never mend
Taunting voices and macabre silhouettes
Which only daylight could end

Oh, my bed is nothing better
Than a rack with spikes embedded
Both are a platform for torture
Both are agony that allows no dreams

Maybe in this lack of sleep
There is a point, though concealed
In nights awake
And eyes stale from the sight
Of this snowy field

If it's His attempt
To crush the illusion of rest
And I have learned
Of the length of night
I know the shape of every star
Lived the chirps of birds in their nests

And I truly have no dream
Of growing old
For soon enough I'll wither
And ebb away
There'll be nothing left to bury
Nothing left
To rot and decay

Submitted: Thursday, February 14, 2013
Edited: Friday, February 15, 2013
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