RED POPPIES

A part of an arm and half a head
with one eye closed
stick out under a gray raincoat
in the thorn bush.   
 
Field of red poppies
behind it.
 
Spring rain waters
a poor man, and he lays
asleep.
 
Drunkenness knocked him down
on his way back to
Bihać, and no one knows
when he came here.
 
The plains won’t let him
leave, so he drinks
and knocked down lay
in the rain.
 
In summer and winter. In rainy
spring and cold autumn,
always the same.
 
Silent men
pass him by
on bicycles.
 
Women avoid him
far and wide, clucking
like hens.
 
Children with school bags
on their backs stand in wonder,
don’t know what to do, and behind
 
a drunk, on his way to Bihać,
school choir of red poppies sing
in full bloom. 

CRVENI MAKOVI

CRVENI MAKOVI

Dio ruke i pola glave
s jednim zatvorenim okom
vire u trnju ispod sive
kabanice.
 
Iza je polje crvenih
makova.
 
Proljetna kiša zalijeva
sirotog muškarca koji leži
i spava.
 
Prevalilo ga
pijanstvo na njegovu putu
do Bihaća, odakle je tko
zna kad doselio.
 
Ravnica mu
ne da otići, on tako pije
i pokisao prevaljen
leži.
 
Ljeti i zimi. Kišnog
proljeća i hladne jeseni,
isto.
 
Muškarci prođu
pokraj njega na biciklu i
šute.
 
Žene ga zaobiđu
u luku i ne prestaju,
kao kokoši.
 
Djeca stoje i ne znaju
što bi, začuđena s torbama na
leđima, dok iza pijanog
 
muškarca, na putu do Bihaća,
pjeva školski zbor procvalih
makova, crvenih.