In some­body’s notebook
that day will be marked
with a pencil.

Neat­ly packed grey fibre will fade gath­er­ing dust.

The cup­board will open with fad­ed brown coats,
bee­keep­ing suit, clothes for dif­fer­ent occasions;
the pitch black umbrel­la will spread.

Red wine will refract light
cre­at­ing a red rose on the wall,
in the late afternoon.

Hon­ey jars will remain filled with shades of pine forest.

Yel­low­ish stone will press bound books,
like silence does with hours.

The night lamp will radi­ate blueness
below the pic­ture of Moth­er in silver,
draped in that blue.
Life will still have the same hue,
genet­ic structure
con­tin­u­ous­ly combining.
 

Trans­lat­ed by Ivana Maksić

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