SELMA KOPIĆ

 

Your Bride

 

I wanted to tell you yes,

to approach you in a white dress

with the footsteps of a frightened deer,

to throw a bouquet in the air

and call myself yours

for the rest of our lives.

Only your hand could lead me

happily to heaven.

But the white dress for me

was never tailored

nor did your ring

adorn my hand.

All of this is really

just in my girlhood dream.

The waves of life

took us to different sides.

Still, I am happy

when I see happy brides.

For me, their happiness is a sign

that happiness exists,

but not to shed a tear,

I find it hard to resist.

 

 

At Least In A Dream

 

You flew into my dream as a dear guest.

I'm looking for you on the stone lookouts,

on the castle walls and flower terraces ...

I wonder where you disappeared,

when my hands are still warm

from your touch ...

Come on, show yourself,

to see you at least in a dream!

Go down the ancient stairs,

peek behind some famous bust,

emerge from the waterfall ...

Don't play with my heart anymore,

this is too much for me, after all ...

I'm out of breath while, looking for you,

I walk the streets full of tourists.

I hear your heartbeat

still close to mine breasts...

I don't want to wake up

without seeing your eyes,

without feeling the touch of your lips,

Why are awakenings

the worst after a breakup?

Awake I miss you the most,

awake I'm most aware of what I have lost.

 

I Curse You To Love

 

I curse you to love

so that no verse or note

for her

isn’t good enough

for the rest of your life.

I curse you to love

so that nothing you do

isn’t good enough

for her,

no matter how hard you try.

I curse you

that you love so much

that you talk to yourself

and build towers of cards,

without having words

when you are with her.

I curse you

that you love

so that you can't wait to fall asleep,

with hope that

she will sneak in there

and that hurts you every morning,

because you don't know

is it happened

or you dreamed.

I curse you

to love like that

to look for her

in every passer-by on the street,

in every sound,

in every picture.

I curse you to love so much

that it hurts you when

anyone loves anyone.

I curse you to love

so that everything you do

you do for her sake

and she isn't there,

because she is deaf and mute

for you.

I curse you

that you love so much

that with the hot glow of your eyes

you light your sleepless nights

and open all the paths,

except the one

that leads to her.

I curse you to love

so that you wake up guilty

every morning,

without knowing

what you did wrong.

My trembling hand

that weaves the threads

into the web of love,

to warm you on lonely nights,

I curse you

to be before your eyes

all the time.

That silent silhouette

that lets you go,

while, within herself,

screams for you to come back,

I curse you

to pop out before your eyes

whenever you call her name.

 

Dabogda volio

 

dabogda volio

da nijedan stih ni nota

za nju nije dovoljno dobra

do kraja tvog života

dabogda volio

da ništa što budeš radio

za nju ne bude dovoljno dobro

ma koliko se trudio

dabogda volio

da sam sa sobom pričaš

i kule od karata gradiš

a da pred njom riječi nemaš

dabogda volio

da jedva čekaš da utoneš u san

s nadom da će se ona tu ušunjati

i da te boli svako jutro

jer ne znaš je li se dogodilo

ili ti se snilo

dabogda volio

da je pogledom tražiš

u svakom prolazniku na ulici

u svakom zvuku, u svakoj slici

dabogda volio

da boli kad te druga voli

da te boli kad

bilo ko bilo koga voli

dabogda volio

da sve što radiš

zbog nje radiš

a nje nema

jer je za tebe

i gluha i nijema

dabogda volio

da usijanim žarom očiju

osvjetljavaš svoje noći besane

i krčiš sve pute

osim onog koji do nje vodi

dabogda volio

da svakog jutra budiš se kriv

a da ne znaš šta si skrivio

ona uzdrhtala ruka

koja niti upliće

u ljubavi tkanje

da te grije u usamljenim noćima

dabogda ti stalno bila pred očima

ona nijema silueta

koja te pušta da odeš

dok u sebi vrišti da se vratiš

dabogda ti iskočila pred oči

kad god joj se imenom obratiš

 

Editura Liric Graph, Rumunija, 2020.

''Umjetnički horizonti'', Kragujevac, Srbija, 2020.

''Vocea literara'', World Literature Academy, Rumunija, 2020.

 

 

Fade Hydrangeas

 

In a narrow pot fade hydrangeas

from lack of sunlight

Through the dense vegetation

whispers the sea.

Playful children shout

from window to window.

In the empty restaurant

the dishes clinks after dinner.

Blue wasteland is the sky.

The garden is empty,

the table is empty ...

The ashtray is full of deep sighs,

empty is the soul that exhales them.

 

Od hladovine ublijedjele hortenzije

 

Od hladovine ublijedjele

hortenzije u tijesnoj saksiji.

Kroz gusto rastinje šapuće more.

S prozora na prozor

dovikuju se razigrana djeca.

U praznom restoranu

zvekeće escajg nakon večere.

Modra nijema pustoš je nebo.

Prazna je bašta, prazan je sto...

Pepeljara je puna od dubokih uzdaha,

a prazna duša što ih izdiše.

 

 

Međunarodni pesnički konkurs ‘’Garavi sokak’’- Zbornik, Književni klub ‘’Miroslav Mika Antić’’, Inđija, Srbija, 2019.

''Umjetnički horizonti'', Kragujevac, Srbija, 2020.

''Vocea literara'', World Literature Academy, Rumunija, 2020.

 

Whispering Leaves

 

There, in the shade of a leafy birch,

tremors of our bodies

spoke for themselves.

The look in the eyes

was enough to make time stand still for us.

Single touch made us forget about everyone else.

The leaves whispered as we hid in the shade.

That birch remembers every movement

of our trembling bodies.

Its branches keep all our secrets.

We thought we would stand there together,

forever.

And then, the leaves turned yellow and withered,

just like our love.

But, we loved each other,

the birch is a silent witness.

I stop by sometimes, in the spring,

when green is everything.

Whispering leaves I still hear.

In my mind, we stand there…

And I tremble,

I tremble as if you were still here.

 

Šapat lišća

 

Tu, u sjeni olistale breze,

drhtaj naših tijela govorio je sve.

Pogled očiju bio je dovoljan

da stane vrijeme.

Jedan dodir učinio bi

da zaboravimo na sve druge.

Lišće je šaputalo

dok smo se krili u sjeni.

Ta breza pamti svaki pokret

naših uzdrhtalih tijela.

Njene grane

čuvaju sve naše tajne…

Mislili smo

da ćemo stajati tu zajedno, zauvijek.

I onda, lišće je požutjelo  i uvehlo,

baš kao i naša ljubav.

Ali, voljeli smo se,

ta breza je nijemi svjedok.

Navratim ponekad, u proljeće,

kada zeleno je sve.

Još uvijek čujem lišće kako šapuće.

U mojoj glavi, mi stojimo tamo…

I drhtim,

drhtim baš kao da si ti još uvijek tu.

 

SELMA KOPIĆ

 

SELMA KOPIĆ is a professor of Bosnian language and literature, born in 1962 in Tuzla, Bosnia and Herzegovina. She is the author of two textbooks and one workbook for primary school. She has worked and is working as a coach, reviewer, proofreader ...Her stories and poems have been awarded and entered anthologies in BiH and around the world.