Kesa bez kostiju / Bag With No Bones

! 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.

Kesa bez kostiju

A ja sam noćas spavala pod sivom tavanicom,
i posmatrala kako se na njoj formiraju sazvežđa,
ne primećujući da je upravo svitalo,
te da te zvezde svakako ne dolaze s neba.
Dovraga, gde sam ja to?
Kako sam stigla ovde?
Hoću li i odavde biti izbačena?
Naravno da hoću.

Sećam se samo da sam pala sa jednog groznog mesta,
da su mi skoro sve kosti bile polomljene
i da sam pri sebi imala kesu, kesu bez kostiju.
I onda sam se opet našla na groznom mestu,
gde više nije bilo nijednog zelenog lista
i pomislila: "Ono je bio samo san. Priviđenje."
I svaki dan sam mislila na to priviđenje,
u nadi da će ono otići odakle je i došlo - u slučajnost.

Malo kasnije, grozno mesto zauvek je nestalo
i sve je postalo slučajnost.
I Mesec je jednom obišao svoj krug.
I to je bilo to.
Bez bisa.

A lepo ti je rekla majka!
"Ne govori mnogo, nešto ćeš upropastiti.
Ne govori glasno, nešto ćeš upropastiti.
Ne nagoveštavaj ništa, nešto ćeš upropastiti.
Ne radi ništa, sedi, čekaj.
Ako ti niko ne dođe, to onda nije to."

I lepo ja kažem ogledalu!
"Upropastila si sve,
jer si ružna glupa kučka,
nešto što nikad neće biti vredno ni drugog pogleda."

I onaj veliki debeli mesec,
i onaj olinjali orijentalni zričak,
i one zalutale oktobarske baruštine,
i svi prokleti raskvašeni bicikli ovog sveta,
...svi oni ti se rugaju.
Sve vreme su ti se samo rugali, pobogu!
Jadnice.
Glupačo.
Balego.

Probudi se, budalo, da opet ne sanjariš.
No, bar si naučila da otvoriš usta,
što znači da će ti se izjaloviti brže.
Hajde ,glavu gore, opet. I opet. I opet.

I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet.
I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet.
I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet.
I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet.
I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet. I opet.
I opet!!!!!

Iz trideset trećeg puta možda i uspe.

______________________________________________

A Bag With No Bones

And I slept last night, underneath a grey ceiling,
Watching constellations form up there on it,
Not noticing that it was just dawning,
So those stars were surely not from the sky.
To hell, where am I?
How did I get here?
Will I be thrown out once again?
Sure, I will!

I just remember falling from a horrible place,
That alnmost all of my bones were broken
And that I had a bag with me, a bag with no bones.
And then I ended up on a horrible place once again,
Where there was no single green leaf left
And thought: "That was just a dream. Apparition."
And every day I thought of that apparition,
Hoping it would go back to where it came from - to coincidence.

A little later, the horrible place was gone, forever
And everything became a coincidence.
And the Moon went a whole circle once.
And that was it.
No encore.

And your mother told you so!
"Don't speak a lot, you'll ruin something.
Don't speak loud, you'll ruin something.
Don't drop any hints, you'll ruin something.
Don't do anything, just sit there and wait.
If nobody comes to you, then that's not it."

And I told the mirror so!
"You ruined everything,
Because you're an ugly stupid bitch,
Something that will never be worthy enough of a second look."

And that big obese Moon,
And that worn out oriental cricket,
And those October puddles that got lost on their way,
And all the cursed soggy bicycles of this world,
...they're all mocking you!
They were mocking you all along, for god's sake!
Loser.
Dumbass.
Bullshit.

Wake up, you idiot, so you don't dream again.
But at least you learnt to open your mouth,
Which means you'll see it's not worth it much faster.
Come on, hold your head up high, again. And again. And again.

And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And again!!!

It might work on your thirty-third try.
It might.

2 Reactions to Kesa bez kostiju / Bag With No Bones

  1. Now_Wave says...

    Čitajući ovo, i srpsku i englesku verziju, bila mi je mučna tolika količina strogosti i samokritike prema lirskom subjektu, ali potpuno mogu da se identifikujem sa tim osećanjem, verovatno možemo svi, u nekom trenutku u svom životu. Već sam naslov, kesa bez kostiju, je izuzetno jaka metafora... Ovolika destruktivnost može da uplaši, ali se ipak nadam da lirski subjekat neće odustajati, pa neka uspe i iz 303. puta, nije bitno, jednom će uspeti.
    I stvarno obožavam tvoje sintagme tipa ''prokleti raskvašeni bicikli'', u koliko god brutalnom kontekstu ovde bile navedene.
    <3

     
     
    • Iva says...

      Morala je da se oseti vlaga tog meseca...a umesto kola, može i bicikl. Ne znam kako se bicikl prvi put pojavio, tj. odakle taj bicikl, ali mora da hoće da bude u tim pesmama, tako da se trudim da ga svugde ubacim.

      A kesa bez kostiju NIJE metafora. Ili ćeš se setiti sama, te kese, ili ću te podsetiti. 🙂

       
       

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *