Heat On A Fingertips ~ Toplota Na Vrhovima Prstiju Poem by Jankovic Zoran

When you left the first time
my face was stiff with pain.
I listened to the song for days:
"Princess is coming in."

Tears drove myself right
on a clean, white shirt.
I mourned my love.

My heart has a small apartment.
There is no place for ugly things in it.
Traces of memory on you I fold up
carefully in a suitcase of nice memories.

After three years, you showed up,
suddenly, as if you never left.
You asked for ordinary, meaningless things.
Actually, you had nothing to say.

I opened the chest of memories
and on the traces left to him
I played the strange game
you were looking for.

My soul was stiff by my gloom
but I had a smile on my face.
I did not feel anything: No pain, no love.

Over time, you became a habit
as expensive, patched shirt
which I, sometimes, carried,
and it was clear that he had holes.

It lasted two years.
You spoke sweet lies and I saw it
just a arrogant, evil
Princess Of Without Meaning.

You thought it was your friend
anyone who smiles you a little more.
When you're alone you asked me
and I would appear as a ghost from a bottle
closed in a nonsense for a long time.

One evening you said you were going,
that you have a good company
and you'll arise when you get there.

You reported in two days
as usual: Silly and hypocritical.
I felt a lot of pain in my soul.

With Fingertips I opened
careful chest of memories.
My cold heart felt Heat.
I washed my hands in horror,
I turned around and left.

Util now I remember those sick Heat.
I kept it on my Fingerstips
the last trace of my love for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toplota na vrhovima prstiju


Prvi put kad si otišla
lice mi je bilo ukočeno od bola.
Slušao sam danima pjesmu:
"Princezo javi se."

Suze su mi same kapale pravo
na čistu, bijelu košulju.
Oplakivao sam moju ljubav.

Moje srce ima mali stan.
U njemu nema mjesta za ružne stvari.
Tragove sjećanja na tebe sam složio
pažljivo u kovčeg lijepih uspomena.

Posle tri godine su si pojavila
iznenada, kao da nikad nisi otišla.
Pitala si obične, besmislene stvari.
Ustvari, nisi imala šta da kažeš.

Otvorio sam kovčeg sjećanja
i na tragovima koju su njemu ostali
igrao sam čudnu igru koju si tražila.

Duša mi je bila ukočena od sjete
a na licu sam imao osmijeh.
Nisam osjećao ništa: Ni bol, ni ljubav.

Vremenom si mi postala navika
kao draga zakrpljena košulja
koju sam, ponekad, nosio,
a vidjelo se jasno da ima rupe.

I trajalo je to dvije godine.
Pričala si slatke laži a ja sam vidio
samo oholu, zlu Princezu Bez Smisla.

Mislila si da ti je prijatelj
svako ko ti se malo više nasmiješi.
Kad si bila sama tražila si me
i ja bih se pojavio kao duh iz boce
zatvoren u besmisao pukog trajanja.

Jedne večeri si rekla da ideš,
da imaš dobro društvo
i da ćeš se javiti kad stigneš.

Javila si se posle dva dana
kao obično, oholo i licemjerno.
Osjetio sam vreo bol u duši.

Vrhovima prstiju sam otvorio
pažljivo kovčeg sa uspomenama.
Moje hladno srce je osjetilo toplotu.
Prestravljeno sam oprao ruke,
okrenuo sam se i otišao.

I sad se sjećam te bolesne toplote.
Na vrhovima prstiju sam držao
poslednji trag ljubavi prema tebi.