The hoops that embrace a barrel full of bitter
Wine. That's what our days were.

Sour taste of dark soil, persistent flow of rivers,
(Like the flow of blood through veins and arteries)
Sound of leaves, and the waves that
Wrinkled the clear face of the sea.
The deception, that we all loved.

No more recognition,
Or the clouds' familiar laughter.
The swallow's flight,
Its gentle turning in the air,
We did not understand.

Each one of us would
Rather take off the body;
We felt it like a cloth
Whose fibres rip so quickly.

Now, it is surrounded by walls
Covered by a thick layer of moss,
Only the heart remains.

The blood, like a thread of smoke
Soars towards the sky.

The heart is also gone.

Oh, soul, wash up yor
Burning cheeks with snow.

One can now hear nothing but pulses,
Rolling of stars down the sky.
As in a dark box; the intoxicating
Silence; an embrace
In which there is no one.

Translated by Zoran Paunović