Skelet sirotog malog kišobrana / Skeleton Of A Poor Little Umbrella

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2016. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

This poor little outtake that doesn't belong to any series I'm writing was inspired by seeing the same umbrella on the same place in the nearby street under different weather conditions. And then one day it was finally gone. As if it was something out of some crazy film, such as Les Herbes Folles.

Either way, this is a story about a person who somehow knows that whatever they're throwing themselves into is destined to fail and make them miserable, yet they're doing it...at least until a certain point in time, when there's no more fluff on their soul and no more fabric on poor little umbrella's skeleton.

The story starts on a day with particularly vile, cold weather and a blizzard. As the winter arrives, passes by and progresses to spring, the poor little umbrella degrades to a skeleton of a poor little umbrella. Now the dandelions are there, but no umbrella.

If this was a song, it would sound like something Lene Marlin would sing. I swear.

Skelet sirotog malog kišobrana

(Tačno 365 dana od senzacionalne vesti koja ustvari nije objavljena prvi put. Možda drugi put. Čevrtak. Veliki grad.)

Klizam se nizbrdo, do rupe iz koje dolazi buka,
osećam, ova vejavica će me dokrajčiti,
osećam, ova mesečina će me ubiti.

I onda spazih
siroti mali kišobran,
neko ga je tu ostavio i sad je pod snegom
i niko ga neće.

Pogledala sam ga.
Krenula sam dalje tamo gde sam naumila,
iako sam imala veoma loš predosećaj.

Tako je bilo sa mnom.
A šta će biti sa sirotim malim kišobranom?
Šta će biti sa sirotim malim kišobranom?

(Oko nedelju dana kasnije.)

Vraćam se kući, a nekima je praznik,
osećam, ne sanjam, ne sanjam, ne sanjam,
osećam, ovaj mesec će sve promeniti.

I onda spazih
siroti mali kišobran,
progledao je kad je sav taj sneg okopnio,
i ne zna zašto je baš tu.

Pogledala sam ga.
Vreme je za večeru, koga briga za njega?
Gde je sad onaj loš predosećaj, gladna sam!

Tako je bilo sa mnom.
A šta će biti sa sirotim malim kišobranom?
Šta će biti sa sirotim malim kišobranom?

(Mesec dana kasnije.)

Skakućem nizbrdo,
osećam, pretoplo vreme za ovo doba godine,
osećam, nešto loše me vreba iz neposredne blizine.

I onda spazih
siroti mali kišobran,
i dalje je tu, poderan je i iskrivljen
i niko ga neće.

Pogledala sam ga.
Krenula sam dalje tamo gde sam naumila,
iako sam imala veoma loš predosećaj.

Tako je bilo sa mnom.
A šta će biti sa sirotim malim poderanim kišobranom?
Šta će biti sa sirotim malim poderanim kišobranom?

(Više od mesec dana kasnije.)

Trčim unaokolo,
osećam, ostarila sam više nego što treba,
osećam kako mi ništa od ovoga ne treba.

I onda spazih
skelet sirotog malog kišobrana,
na njemu više nema ni mrvice tkanine
i niko ga neće.

Pogledala sam ga.
Krenula sam dalje tamo gde sam naumila,
iako sam imala veoma loš predosećaj.

Tako je bilo sa mnom.
A šta će biti sa skeletom sirotog malog kišobrana?
Šta će biti sa skeletom sirotog malog kišobrana?

...

Sahranjena pod nanosom netaknutog snega,
možda sam se smrznula i umrla,
možda sam se probudila ne znajući gde sam bila.
A možda više nisam ni tu.
Više nisam tu, više nisam tu.

Izgubljena u novonastalom polju maslačaka,
možda ti moji maslačci imaju trnje,
možda mi je žalost bila pomutila razum.
A možda ništa ni ne shvatam.
Ništa ne shvatam, ništa ne shvatam.

Možda zajedno ležimo na dnu,
skelet sirotog malog kišobrana i ja,
možda smo zajedno ostavljeni na đubrištu.
Možda...

(Jednom. Dvaput. Nikad. Nikad.)

____________________________________________

Skeleton Of A Poor Little Umbrella

(Precisely 365 days from a sensational news that wasn't really heard for the first time. Maybe second time. Thursday. Big city.)

Sliding down to the hole noise comes from,
I feel, this blizzard will finish me,
I feel, this moonlight will kill me.

And then I spot
A poor little umbrella,
Someone left it there and now it's snowed in
And nobody wants it.

I looked at it,
I went further to where I was heading to,
Though I had a very bad feeling about it.

That's how it was for me.
But what about the poor little umbrella?
What about the poor little umbrella?

(About a week later.)

Going back home, it's some people's holiday,
I feel that I'm not dreaming, not dreaming,
I feel, this month will change everything.

And then I spot
A poor little umbrella,
It's looking a bit better now in dry weather,
And it doesn't know why it's there.

I looked at it,
It's supper time, who cares about the umbrella?
Where is the bad feeling now, I'm hungry!

That's how it was for me.
But what about the poor little umbrella?
What about the poor little umbrella?

(One month later.)

Skipping down the hill,
I feel, it's too warm for this time of the year,
I feel, something bad's hiding very near.

And then I spot
A poor little umbrella,
Still there, crooked, its fabric torn,
And nobody wants it.

I looked at it,
I went further to where I was heading to,
Though I had a very bad feeling about it.

That's how it was for me.
But what about the poor little torn umbrella?
What about the poor little torn umbrella?

(More than a month on.)

I'm running around,
I feel, I've grown older than I should be,
I feel, I never needed any of this for me.

And then I spot
Skeleton of a poor little umbrella,
No single piece of fabric left on it,
And nobody wants it.

I looked at it,
I went further to where I was heading to,
Though I had a very bad feeling about it.

That's how it was for me.
But what about the skeleton of a poor little umbrella?
What about the skeleton of a poor little umbrella?

...

Buried in the undriven snow
Might freeze myself to death,
Might have awaken not knowing where I've been.
Maybe I'm no longer here.
I'm no longer here, I'm no longer here.

Lost in the newly grown field of dandelions,
Maybe these dandelions of mine have thorns,
Maybe my grief hhad impaired my sense,
Or maybe I don't get a thing.
I don't get a thing, I don't get a thing.

Maybe we have drowned
And we're lying together on the bottom of a river,
Skeleton of a poor little umbrella and me.
Maybe we have been left together on the junkyard.
Maybe...

(Once. Twice. Never. Never.)

One Reaction to Skelet sirotog malog kišobrana / Skeleton Of A Poor Little Umbrella

  1. ivan says...

    Shvatam siroti kišobran ,u istoj smo situaciji...

     
     

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