And when from the lips
as if from the cherries full of blood
and fruit the silence dropped
to carry down the underground rivers
everything groundless into the beds of earth
the beggars stopped the treasures opened wide
of the golden mist of poetry first poetry last
to spell the wings and foot flight
and trace stone and the head sleeping on it
I kad se s usana ko s' višnje prepune krvi
I ploda otkinuo još jedan muk
Da sve bez tla ponornicom u korita od zemlje odnese
Zastali su prosjaci i otvorile se riznice
Od magle zlaćane poezije prve poezije posljednje
Krila da progovore i let stopu
I trag kamen i glavu što na njemu spava
©Miroslava Odalovic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem