LAMENT
LAMENT
It's not me!
They killed me deliberately,
on Twilight Boulevard,
by the rain-soaked alleys.
Somewhere the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves"
from the opera "Nabucco" echoed,
when the assassin ambushed me.
And like Napoleon in defeat at Waterloo,
the light withdrew without fanfare, without oboe,
into eternal darkness.
It's not me.
They killed me deliberately,
cowards, schemers,
creators of slander, deceivers...
while you, a voluntary prisoner,
like a locked bolt played "Russian roulette"
with your own life,
and that night, never arrived,
light as a deer, went to you
on a prophet's sign.
No! It's not me.
They killed me deliberately
between two revolutions
without the right to defense, without bail.
I just strolled out of some novel,
Moravian willows, fields of hemp and flax.
With golden hair and the scent of dandelions
where your youthful vigor intertwined.
From the Moravian eddies emerged thinly,
like a Lament over the former life.
No! It's not me.
They killed me deliberately...
Zvezdana Milosavljević
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