We choke one another with the letters.
I read your ordinary words,
and I don't feel anything in them.
It's like someone's
writing me weather forecast.
I am writing you senseless things,
and you seem like you didn't read them.
We spent our time as a bonus
that doesn't mean anything to us.
Maybe it's our past spent her time,
and the present looks like us,
like an old, pretty lady
who doesn't remember her youth.
Perhaps the time that comes
to awaken our memories.
The future is always a hope,
that tomorrow might be nice again
as memories wich we have forgotten.
09/20/2016
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Sjećanja (1)
Gušimo jedno drugo slovima.
Čitam tvoje obične riječi,
a u njima ne osjećam ništa.
Kao da mi neko piše
vremensku prognozu.
Pišem ti besmislene stvari,
a ti se praviš kao da ih nisi pročitala.
Trošili smo naše vrijeme kao
bonus koji nam ništa ne znači.
Možda je naša prošlost
potrošila svoje vrijeme,
a sadašnjost nam liči
na staru, lijepu gospođu
koja se ne sjeća mladosti.
Možda će vrijeme koje dolazi
probuditi naša sjećanja.
Budućnost je uvijek nada
da ono što će biti sutra
može ponovo biti lijepo
kao uspomene koje smo zaboravili.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem