Where he lives
It's a shumadian* blues
smoky café,
carated tablecloths,
aluminum ashtrays
and a magic flute that cries.
Hoarse voice with a bad loudspeaker.
Smell of heated baking
and wine of unknown origin;
but the music that connects the heart,
breaks the soul.
Get on the table and play:
Break all the glasses,
stretch the skirt above the knee.
Fill your soul with a sweet feeling:
That everyone is watching and loving you,
that everyone wants to be their wife tonight.
I'm an old cheater.
I sit and calmly watch you,
because I know when you finish the dance,
then you will come for my table
and say that you want to
I lead you to a hidden place.
29.11.2011.
* Shumadia - province of Serbia
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Na skriveno te vodim mjesto.
Tamo gdje stanuje
šumadijski bluz je
zadimljena kafana,
karirani stolnjaci,
aluminijske pepeljare
i frula koja plače.
Promukli glas sa lošeg razglasa.
Miris podgrijanog pečenja
i vino nepoznatog porijekla;
ali muzika koja spaja srca, lomi duše.
Popni se na sto i igraj:
Polomi sve čaše,
zadigni suknju iznad koljena.
Ispuni dušu slatkim osjećajem:
da te svi gledaju i vole,
da bi svi noćas
htjeli da im budeš žena.
Ja sam stari prevarant.
Sjedim i mirno te gledam,
jer znam kad završiš ples,
da ćeš doći za moj sto
i reći da želiš da
na skriveno te vodim mjesto.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem