Uspavanka za krevet / Lullaby For A Bed

! 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.

I spotted an ongoing theme in most of my 2012 poems, at last. Backed by my ugly habit of writing about things as-they-happen; which - for example - turned the poetry from the second half of 2011 into documentation of something that I wasn't going to succeed at, step by step; I've realised most of the recent poems are about seeing the same events and situations from different viewpoints.

This one has "I", "We" and "They", to illustrate how sometimes an individual who might be a character compared to the mob itself is both that and a part of the group. That makes it completely different from Picture Book where I'm impersonating other people; and Twelve Drops Of Honey In The Hourglass where the other people aren't present.

I have a working title for this series, too.

Uspavanka za krevet

Ti imaš krila,
a oni puške,
šta sad?

Ti si put,
oni su kamioni,
da li te boli?

Izvini, izvini, pa iz-iz-izvini,
ono što ona kaže meni, ja bih rekla tebi.

Daješ nam krila,
daju nam puške,
šta da radimo?

Daješ nam mape,
daju nam ključeve kola,
kako da te ne povredimo?

Brinem se, brinem se, bri-bri-bri-brinem,
ono što kažem sebi je kako vidim tebe.

Ti si krevet,
ja sam lebdeći prekrivač
i jastučnica punjena slamom,
a snovi svih tih sanjara
vremenom postaju sve teži.

Ti si put,
ja sam konačni broj
katadioptera i njihova boja,
vozila plaćaju putarinu
silnim blistavim petoparcima.

Ima dana kad me je sramota što sam ja,
kad uprskam možda činim da
i ti osetiš sav ovaj teret,
možda, samo možda.

Ima dana kad se bojim što sam ja,
kad me iskrice u njihovim očima
prevare, pa i ja isijavam belo,
čisto belo.

No, ima najviše dana
kad je tišina za mene,
pojanje za njih
i uspavanka za tebe,
uspavanka za tebe.

Lullaby For A Bed

You have wings
They have guns
What to do?

You are road,
They are trucks
Does it hurt you?

I'm sorry, sorry, so sorry-sorry-sorry,
What she says to me is what I say to you.

You gave us wings,
They gave us guns,
What do we do?

You gave us maps,
They gave us car keys,
How not to hurt you?

I will wory, worry, so worry-worry-worry,
What I say to myself is what I see of you.

You are the bed,
I am a levitating sheet
And a pillowcase full of hay
All those dreamers' dreams
Are getting heavier with time.

You are the road,
I am the count of
Catadiopters and their colour,
Vehicles pay toll
With many a shiny dime.

There are days when I am shamed for being me,
Whenever I fail I might be
making you feel the load,
I just might.

There are days when I am scared for being me,
When sparks from their eyes
Fool me too into radiating white,
Pure white.

But most of the days
It's silence for me,
A chant for them
And a lullaby for you,
A lullaby for you.

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