Life without poppies.. Refik Martinović

 

A long time ago
in a shadow
of the old cherry
 in a blossom
our sins
were breathing
in the innocent nights,
that were breaking me
with sorrow
in the hidden days,
 which I don't even dream any more.
Only the empty bed was left
under the window
 of our house,
where  some time
hyacinths once smelled, only for one youth
and one world.

And then one night,
when the stars postponed their outgoing,
the raven swallowed
the night
and became a curse
while the chimny man died on a treshold,
 for they stole
all the chimnies from him
trains full of waitings
 lost their rails
in a dense grass of abandoned plains,
hyachints closed their eyes for not to shed any tears, when the love weeps
on wet pavement.

Slowly without counting years escaped
from the calendar
 my hopes were left to walk naked of transience streets, while I have been waiting for dusk and the last reflection of the Sun,
like a stray who is buttoned up to throat
all the former partings
 only the firefly
that has just scrolled through my fields know
the path that led
to red poppies,
because only
they don't hide the faces, the people never knew.