The Best Poems (Part 1)
The transience of life
What are we?
Just a drop of the rain,
Just a spark in a flame.
Man, look at the night sky!
Have you ever asked yourself?
What are you,
under those sparkling stars.
Your life will pass
in a blink of your eye,
You will be forgotten
like everything, under the endless sky.
Every step that you took
will be turn into dust,
Oh, man, look!
How small you are.
The Transience of life
Oh man, remember who you are!
Carried by the waves and wind
you're a small boat in a wild storm,
and you do not see the end of the sea,
and then you realize how small you are.
Then you realize you're a grain of sand
in the shoe, which was removed and thrown
and not taking care of where you'll be left,
removed like an insignificant thing
in the already threadbare old coat.
This world doesn't lose anything with your death,
your trace will be replaced and every step you make
will be covered by the white cloak.
And while walking through the fog you can not see,
that you're wandering on the wrong path and you're going to darkness.
Through prayer get closer to your Lord
do not exalt yourself in front of others, and don't show your scars.
Remember you are only a passenger with a return ticket in hand,
and in the end of your journey, you'll put down the heavy suitcases
and peacefully fall asleep, under the sparkling stars.
How love hurts
You gave me the beauty,
love that hurts, every time when the heart longs.
My darling, I have no heart any longer,
it remained only in my songs.
I loved you because you were a
sweet tenderness of nightingale's song
in the idyll of flowers and fragrant dew,
ravishing like a rose and butterflies on the tuft of hair.
But you were also like starfish,
on dry land, beautiful but lifeless.
And thinking it would be a shame to destroy such beauty,
I returned you into the sea kingdom, on the marvelous bottom.
And now I look waves climbing up to me and
I listen how the sea is crying with me.
White sea foam is trying to cover my pain
but vain, deeply is my love anchored.
Autumn at the door
I approached the window that was small and sable
and enthralled sat down beside the old wooden table,
looking out the window, to the life that dies
I thought, how beautiful and majesty death is.
She is here. I said quietly
by plains she quietly walks
and her companion wind
in the air, rises flustered flock of storks.
Autumn is alive, there is no doubt
and wherever she goes, she leaves signs.
By the road she scatters golden yellow colors of leaves
while playing with restlessly lake, she releases the wind from her sleeves.
Oh, how beautiful is autumn with extensive vineyards
where the wine will flow, soon in the glass.
I see the autumn playing magnificent single silent note
and that note forced old man to put on the golden coat.
You're just a man
And again, the sadness
will enchain my heart in the snow
And again, in my threadbare coat
I'll go out into the street covered with thorny thoughts.
And I regret and I'm bitterly crying
shedding tears over the red roses in a garden.
Because once upon a time there was a rose
and now only a thorn, sadness and black crows.
Like the nocturnal wraith
I'm wandering at abandoned roads without faith
far from feelings, love and memories
forgotten like a rusty and old shipwreck.
Time stabbed me in the old wound
which is sealed in a chest, surrounded by flame
and like a messenger, It gave me the paper
that says: “You're just a man.“
Soldiers in the hell of war
Oh soldier, where are you going?
Who are you fighting and dying for?
Your path leads you through hell while wearing your cross
and wearily you're striding to destiny's door.
Your house without you has long been bleak.
Your mother has lost her son a thousand times
While sitting and waiting for you to knock on her door
she is crying of mourning while praying, kneeling on the floor.
Your mother is tired, tired from heavily concerns,
from insomnia and prayers for her only son.
Oh soldier, why do you shed your blood in this war
Who are you fighting and dying for?
White roses are spilled with blood on unknown land
and no one knows where your grave is
and the church bells of your city are quietly sobbing
in silence without end, in silence without end.
© 2016 Kristian Režić