Memories on happy youth,
that distant past,
choking the night like
the smell of paraffin
in a smoky, cold room.
When the flame of the candle
is the only clear light,
and the red wine is the consolation;
the soul tense up and sad dreams.
Inaudable sink into memory
everything that was nice,
all that is called a hope.
Silence turns into pain.
With weak, morning light
and an empty bottle of red wine,
the consolation extinguishes my memories.
28.1.2017.
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Uspomena (2)
Sjećanja na davnu mladost
guše noć kao miris parafina
u zadimljenoj, hladnoj sobi.
Kad je plamen svijeće
jedino jasno svjetlo,
a crno vino opora utjeha;
duša se skupi i tužno sanja.
Nečujno tone u sjećanja
sve što je bilo lijepo,
sve što se zvalo nada.
Tišina se pretvara u bol.
Sa slabom, jutarnjom svjetlošću
i praznom bocom crnog vina
gasi se utjeha jednoj uspomeni
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful imagery and words.