Sleepers

Translated by Tomislav Kuzmanovi

if you want to see it all it is here
filled to the very brim
nothing reflects nor
continues every thing
breaks in its membrane
porous are only the joints
windows glistening in
the late afternoon sun
in the rhythm of that same hawk’s
unhurried and uncatchable wings in the shades
of brown and ocher just like
the bricks on the porch a couple degrees
from the eaves slanted under the roof
to the left maybe to the right their
deep carved wrinkles
are someone’s signature
that was later erased
dried up and illegible
like the triangle of the white
flag with two red
stripes the crossroad
above the left knee
who will wake me up
the land and its scenery
are the same and unvoiced
take a look around yourself
their breathing is deep even-paced
like white and dark trees
that’s the sky snapping its fingers
rustling and shaking the bush following
the creases later on always
on the white fabric the body is
the steam of someone’s breath that
disappears in the split
of light but not the sun
prostrated on your right side
leaning against a low wall
with your head thrown back
you rub your eyes with both
hands although you know
you will never open them

Spava_i
ako _eli_ sve vidjeti tu je
ispunjeno do samog ruba
ni_ta se ne odra_ava niti
nastavlja svaka stvar
prelama se u svojoj opni
propusne su jedino spone
svjetlucanje prozora na
suncu kasnog popodneva
u intervalima usporenih
i neulovljivih krila onog
istog sokola u nijansi
sme_e i okera ba_ kao
cigle trijema par stupnjeva
od kosine greda pod krovom
lijevo ili desno njihove
su duboko usje_ene
bore ne_iji potpis
naknadno izbrisan
osu_en i ne_itljiv
poput trokuta bijele
zastave sa dvije crvene
pruge raskri_je
iznad lijevog koljena
tko _e me probuditi
zemlja i njezin krajolik
ostali su isti mu_aljivi
osvrni se oko sebe
di_u duboko ujedna_eno
kao i bijela i tamna stabla
to nebo pucketa prstima
_u_ti i trese grmlje prati
nabore naknadno uvijek
bijele tkanine tijelo je
para ne_ijeg daha koji
nestaje u procjepu
svjetlosti ali ne i sunca
zavaljen na desnom boku
naslonjen na niski zid
zaba_ene glave
s obje ruke trlja_ o_i
premda zna_ da ih
nikada ne_e_ otvoriti

OTHER VISITING WRITERS
A Sparrow Rubbed by a Flute
Soheil Najm

Mulligatawny Dreams
Meena Kandasamy