Vaskrsenja / Resurrections
Sam u kući.
Ostavljen,
sa velikim namještajem što u mene zuri.
Od zaključanih vrata širi se miris prstiju.
U mene niko ne ulazi.
Vrtim se.
Dosadno mi je, dok sve pored mene prolazi.
Znam da sam mali za očevu košulju,
ali u njoj mogu strah ptice uhvatiti,
ali u njoj mogu kroz majku letjeti,
ali u njoj mogu boju neba osjetiti.
Dok sam se igrao u parku ispred stare crkve,
ušao sam u njenu polutamnu nutrinu.
Ošamuen mirisom tamjana,
Vidio sam ispred sebe
razapeto tijelo.
Zavlačio sam se u njegov krik.
Hvatao sam njegov strah zbog kojeg nije mogao sa
raširenim
rukama letjeti.
Tijelo mi se kamenilo
Iz crkve me je povukla majčina ruka,
na kojoj je očeva burma
bljesnula
poput Cezarevog zlatnog biča
što je mladom Antonijevom pogledu
skrivenom ispod crnih pramenova kovrdžave kose,
otkrio sve zabačene ćoškove
Rima.
Home alone.
Abandoned,
with large furniture staring at me.
From the locked door the smell of fingers spreads.
Nobody enters me.
I am spinning.
I am bored, while everything passes by me.
I know I am too small for my father’s shirt,
but in it I can catch the fear of the bird,
but in it I can fly through my mother,
but in it I can feel the colour of the sky.
While I was playing in the park in front of the old church,
I entered its shadowy insides.
Dazed by the scent of incense,
I saw before me
the crucified body.
I was creeping into his scream.
I was catching the fear due to which he could not
fly
with his spread-out arms.
My body was turning into stone.
Out of the church my mother’s hand pulled me,
on it father’s wedding ring
flashed
like Caesar’s golden whip
that to Anthony’s young gaze
hidden beneath black strands of curly hair,
had shown all the remote corners
of Rome.
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