The first time they made me cry
I still didn't know about was
and will be
.
Why did I believe
that the sadness is the real thing,
the truth behind the illusion
of the drawn-on smiles,
that the end of the story ensues
once I return to her?
The conclusion, the finale.
Sometimes, the image haunts me.
When I come back to her,
sometimes I just can't
shake off of me
the gaze of the girl,
enlightened
by the dying of happiness,
that today isn't the same
as yesterday,
isn't the same
as tomorrow.
I can't shake off
the empty eyes
of the toys and drawings
whose lies she uncovered.
I can't shake the world off,
nor the feeling that it's dying,
that it's floating
into the darkness.
But it seems
just another lie,
that underneath it all,
it's bare suffering and misery.
It's everchanging.
I have to let go of
all the words and images,
from one moment to the next.
Sadness is but another mark
on the ephemeral tape
I unfold
from one cycle to another.
Kad su me rasplakali
dok još nisam znala
za “bilo” i “biće”,
zašto li sam poverovala
da je tuga stvarna,
da je java iza iluzije
nacrtanih osmeha,
da je kraj priče
kada joj se vratim?
Zaključak i završnica,
istina svetska.
Proganja me ponekad
ta slika.
Kad se tugi vratim,
ponekad mi ne ide
da stresem sa sebe
pogled te devojčice
kojoj je umiranje sreće
obelodanilo
da danas nije isto što i juče,
nije isto što i sutra.
Ne mogu da stresem
prazne poglede igračaka i crteža
čije je laži razotkrila.
Ne mogu da stresem
svet sa sebe,
niti osećaj da umire
i kreće se u mrak
Ali, deluje kao
još jedna u nizu laž
da je ispod svega
patnja i očaj.
Stalno nastupa smena.
Moram da zbacim sa sebe
sve reči i slike,
iz trenutka u trenutak.
Tuga je samo zarez
na efemernoj traci
koju razmotavam
iz smene u smenu.