Pitaš me
You Ask Me
Ti me pitaš zašto višeja ne pišem svoje pjesme?Zašto rano, zorimicesjeta krije moje lice?
You ask me why I no longerwrite my poems as before?Why at early break of daydoes sadness hide my face away?
Da me bilo tvoga srca,kao zvono iz sna budi.Pa da ljubim cijele noćiumiljate tvoje oči.
If your heartbeat, like a bell,woke me from my sleep and dreams,so that all night long I mightkiss your eyes, so sweet and bright;
I još da se tvoje rukeoko moga sviju vrata,tek bi tada sunce sreće,obasjalo moje cvijeće.
and if, too, your arms would windall around my neck, and cling,only then would fortune's sunshine on my flowers, every one.
Još da mogu da poljubim,tvoja medna usta mala.Vjeruj, dušo, da bi tadamoja pjesma sama cvala.
If, besides, I could but kissyour small mouth, so honey-sweet,trust me, darling, then my poemof itself would bloom, complete.
Valpovo, 1976.
Valpovo, 1976