Miroslav Antic – Psovke neznosti

Sad shvatam:
nismo došli zadovoljni ko trave
što rastu da se zgaze kroz cvrkutave zore.

Mi smo zvezde
što ludo u mrak se strmoglave
i zbog jednog bljeska ne žale da izgore.

Imamo ruke
dobre
kao pijane laste
da se grlimo plavo i gasimo u letu.

I prisutni smo zbog neba što mora da izraste
u saksijama oka ponekome u svetu.

Prejeli smo se davno i zubatog i nežnog.
Sad svako pruža šape i nova čuda traži.
A sve je smešno,
i tužno,
i sve je neizbežno,
i ove istine dobre i ove dobre laži.

Prejeli smo se,
kažem, i svako ume da sanja,
i svako ume da psuje i ore daljine glavom.

I jednako je u nama i kamenja i granja.
I jednako je u nama i prljavo i plavo.

I svesni da smo lepi isto koliko i ružni,
stigli smo gde se gmiže
i stigli gde se leti.
I znamo šta smo dali,
i znamo šta smo dužni,
i šta smo juče hteli
i sutra šta ćemo hteti.

Goreli smo,
al nismo postali pepeo sivi
od kojeg bujaju žita i obale u cvetu.

Uvek smo bili živi,
pa ipak:
drukčije živi
od svih ostalih živih na ovom luckastom svetu.

I najzad:
tako je dobro što nismo samo trave,
što talasanja svoja nijednom vetru ne damo,
već smo zvezde što sjajem sve nebo okrvave
željne da budu sunce makar trenutak samo.

tn_RedBlue

English Translation

Curses Of Tenderness

Now I see:
we didn’t come here content like grass
that grows to be stepped on through chirping dawns.

We are the stars
that plunge madly into the darkness
and don’t mind getting burnt for the sake of one flash

We have hands
as good
as drunk swallows
to hug the blue and fade as we fly.

And we are present because of the sky that has to grow
in flowerpots of some eyes in the world.

We have, long ago, gotten fed up with the tough as well as with tender,
Now everyone is reaching with their paws and searching for new miracles.
But it’s all funny,
and sad,
and it’s all inevitable,
these good truths as well as these good lies.

We’ve overeaten,
I say, and everyone knows how to dream,
and everyone knows how to curse and to plow the distances with their head.

And there’s equal quantity of stones and branches within us.
And there’s equal quantity of dirt and blueness inside us.

And we’re aware that we’re beautiful as much as we are ugly,
we’ve reached the place where we crawl
and we’ve reached the place where we fly.
And we know what we’ve offered,
and we know what we owe,
and what we wanted yesterday
and what we will want tomorrow.

We were burning,
but we haven’t become the gray ash
that makes the wheat and blooming shores sprout.

We’ve always been alive,
but still:
differently alive
from all the other living beings in this silly world.

And finally:
it is so good that we are not just grasses,
that we refuse to give our agitations to any wind,
but we are stars that make the sky bloody with their shine
craving to be the sun at least for a minute.

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