I took your smells and everything yours,
Lowlands and solid-gold corn-fields,
Ashes from the fireplace and my undreamed dreams,
My broken tower of cards
Centennial oak, broken bridges and river
My dead stars float on her now
And diligent villagers who hoe
Sleepless nights which bear sorrow
Bright springs and deep wells
On which round sweep creaks
Black horses and old ornamented coaches,
Next to which a loyal dog jumps
Red poppies, colourful bouquets from meadows
When gentle breeze trembles under the blue sky
Like heaven's spray
That's where my people residence
Every thought leads me to you,
To that endless fields, gold yellow plains
Here I cheered proudly in freedom,
Now I'm just a naked man wandering through shadows
Whose nightingales sing a song to you now,
In your nest whose birds is laying,
Whose bees on your flower swarm,
Whose is this fiery whip that lashes you?
Your mornings smell no more
The dew does not wash sun lightened corn-fields
And broken grain stalks sway painfully in the wind
Under feet that step on a fake-smiled faces
Lie down my bared knife-stabbed soul
On my callous hands. And made of sapphires and gold
Live in my song. That is the way I love you,
My 'Slavonia', my broken tower of cards.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem