Nastasimir Franović

Dubrovnik 12.04. 1960.
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in one song
I would cram the world
conceived just like mine
I look at her like a barefoot child
seeking a word for my song
and would share that song
with a smile
I write and search for words
to elicit the smile
darkness to unfold
to blaze a trail through the snow
for future songs
I found room for new words
I don't need the sun's rays
either the moon's trace
they are repeated many times
I am at a loss for words
the real ones that I'm looking for
words like water from a mountain spring
drops of sweat from the forehead of a hard worker
the grip of a roughly calloused hand
words from the dream of a peaceful righteous man
a song like a mother's lullaby
the only song I write all the time
need to read it proudly
and I groan in the grip of fear
I'm afraid of her
I read it in a whisper
like it's not mine
and whisper
that word
and all that world
tucked into that song
it should roar
like a swollen river
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