Free Verse
Haibun
Confession
If time will exist without
faces never entering this empty house, no one will know if
anyone lives in it. Are these signs being impressed by a hand
anything but a dream? With whose sight does that someone
recognize the papers scattered about? Whose breath flows
around these areas not knowing if they belong to anyone or to
the memory that also does not remember whose is? Everything
around seems familiar, from time to time, and then again a
question arises – who is that one watching the things dead as
in a memory which does not move from the blank point? The body
is motionless under the blanket. Only the hand is restless.
Yet it cannot tell who plays this game. If that is someone,
who it is, if it is something, what it is moving the pencil in
the hand, if it is anyone’s hand?
If time will exist
without faces never entering
this empty house,
no one will know
whether anyone lives in it.
Are these signs
impressed by hand
anything but a dream?
Whose sight recognizes
the papers scattered about?
Whose breath flows around
these spaces not knowing
wheatear they belong to anyone?
Free Verse
So Still
So still afternoon
and so cold
by the open window
expecting to meet someone
I have not seen for so long
Remembering broken bridges
over the Danube in my and in his town
A boy, an adult person already
Perhaps married to a woman
Who I am not
Does he know it is cold?
Does he believe I am still waiting?
Or is he walking his dog
or pushing a newborn
around the playground
we used to sit in
on the bench now
covered in deep snow?
Read
Additional Poems by
Saša Važić, SR
Rengay:
Saša Važić, SR and
Tomislav Maretić, CR:
Mine Field, Swinging the Swing, Snow
