The Wreath Of A Child Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

aimed at those who turned his world
into a fetish doll
pinned by needles
each part of his innocent body
with an apple in his hand
he'll hit the Moon one day
I'm sure he'll hit the Moon
a piece of a mad chaos
the scream of this child
is the scream of a dead chicken
but the Moonbeams
Moonbeams are not deaf
they'll hear

bijes djeteta okomljen na one
što mu svijet pretvoriše u fetiš lutku
probodenu iglama u
svaki djelić njegovog nevinog tijela
jabukom iz ruke hitnuć e Mjesec
sigurna sam hitnuć e Mjesec
komad poludjelog haosa
krik djeteta je bijes mrtvog pileta
ali zrake Mjeseca
zrake Mjeseca nisu gluve
č uć e