Nastasimir Franović

Dubrovnik 12.04. 1960.
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The sky

I want to squeeze the sky.
So tight.
Hard to the point of pain.
Deep to tears.
When I shake someone's hand,
I want my sky to give.
Everyone wants the sky, no one wants a hand!
Hands go to the sky!
A piece is torn off with your hands!
My hands are heavy.
They are empty.
I am waiting!
Give me your hand.
Not to waste the sky!
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