What's left...after almost 12
It's almost 12...years without you
and I'm wondering what is left of us, of my memory of you.
Tonight there is a your sad song on the radio, "Slovenska",
half drunk cup of lemon tea, now cold,
full ashtray, of which you disapprove, of course.
Outside, 21 day famous Belgrade wind, blowing from gray Danube, cold in November.
Old newspapers, from back in 1996, with coffee stains.
Black and white piano tips, and my violin, long time attuned,
because I can`t play without you.
Your blueprints and plans for better tomorrow in this god forsaken city.
On the table pictures, from Iceland, going yellow.
Your perfume, I use the same brand and still reminds me only of you.
Your kiss waking me on the Sunday morning, not knowing that I just fell asleep.
All those small, insignificant things, like you just popped out somewhere.
And there is a hope that you will show up, just around next corner.
And there is still a hole in my heart.
And there is a hope that answers are wright, hope that I asked the wrong questions.
And guilt, Mom, because almost 12...years later
I'm still not you wanted me to be.
znam engleski...ali imam taj ne bas lep obicaj da pisem na stranim jezicima.
Napisala sam je pre 3 godine, na dvanaest godina od mamine smrti.
Ako neko zeli, prevescu je.
_____________________________
Mame, radjajte deci sestre, jer sestre postaju tetke, a tetke su najlepsi, nezamenljivi dar svakom detinjstvu.
Dusko Radovic
-Tetka, ja te VOLIM! 5. 2. 2013.