It was an orthodox Holy thursday.
Last supper day.
I was silent and you were talking.
It was orthodox Good Friday.
You put in the words
a thorn wreath on my head.
With evil you pinned my body
because you love to shoot at the heart.
It was a day of vain repentance.
On Sunday you were stunned
because I was there, again,
to follow, forever, your spoor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sveti dan
Bio je pravoslavni veliki četvrtak.
Dan poslednje večere.
Ja sam ćutao a ti si pričala.
Bio je pravoslavni Veliki petak.
Stavila si riječima vijenac
od trnja na moju glavu.
Zlom si probola moje tijelo
jer voliš da gađaš u srce.
Bio je to dan uzaludnog pokajanja.
U nedelju ti si bila zapanjena
jer ja sam, ponovo, bio tu
da pratim, zauvijek, tvoje tragove.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
truth must come as the powerful light on the resurrection day....