The last beats of summer.. Selma Kopic

 

Fresh flowers in a vase
next to a dried one precious flower
from last summer,
morning fog and night frost,
toothy sun,
streets full of people,
a house full of heat,
a basket full of fruit
- all echoes of painful silence.

At night
in my alley it is dark and desolate,
only the puddles
sparkle like a lamps.
I listen to the rattling of drops,
the squeak of brakes ...
Maybe someone knocks
on my door too.

That's how it is when,
like a naive child,
you fall in love
on the threshold of fifty-five.
You open up like a book,
you show hopes, fears, worries ...
You bloom like autumn roses,
you spread your arms wide
without knowing
that you are hugging the north wind.

With a heart in an outstretched hand,
with dreams in a wounded soul,
with letters in an open book,
with a tear in every petal,
greet,
say goodbye!
Wake up, grow up!
No matter
how painful is to walk alone,
don't come back that summer
anymore!
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Bočne pločeZadnji otkucaji ljeta

Svježe cvijeće u vazi
pokraj sasušenog jednog
dragog cvijeta
od prošlog ljeta,
jutarnje magle i noćni mraz,
zubato sunce,
ulice pune svijeta,
kuća puna topline,
košara puna voća
- sve odzvanja od bolne tišine.

Noću
u mom sokaku je mrak i pustoš,
samo barice svjetlucaju
k'o lampice.
Osluškujem
zveckanje kapljica,
škripu kočnica...
Možda i na moja vrata
neko pokuca.

Tako to biva
kad se k'o naivno dijete
zaljubiš
na pragu pedeset pete.
Otvoriš se poput knjige,
pokažeš nade, strahove, brige...
Procvjetaš k'o jesenja ruža,
ruke širom raširiš
ne znajući da sjeverac grliš.

Sa srcem u ruci pruženoj,
sa snima u duši ranjenoj,
sa slovima u knjizi otvorenoj,
sa suzom u svakoj latici
pozdravi se, oprosti!
Probudi se, odrasti!
Ma kako bolno bilo
sam koračati,
nemoj se više
u to ljeto vraćati!