English

The Man Who Talks to Birds

Once at the Forest Park
I met a foreigner who was feeding the birds.
Last sunset of the dying autumn
Mirrored in his eyes.

He told me:
Dear friend,
My Bosnian accent is almost incomprehensible
I can't talk to people
I'm just sitting on a bench in Forest Park and speaking with birds.

Letter from Syria

My friend,
One completely plain morning
While drinking tea and carelessly reading the newspaper
The dogs of war knocked on my door

From that moment on there are no newspapers
No bread, no tea on my desk anymore
The laughter of my children is gone

Now
In the middle of the chaos, we are constantly trying to find
New survival tactics

Here-
        Death steadily increase
There -
          Heartless politicians
          And academics bury their heads in the sand.

Sunday Lunch in Exile

We didn't talk about our suffering
We taught our children patience
Mastering the silent endurance
Our masters said:
Unnecessary sorrows hijack the glory of God
So, we ate the crumbs from their table
Without any complaint.
We comforted ourselves: I'm fine. It's ok.
Tomorrow will be the same,
The concept of discrimination repeats itself.
Gentleman from social institution will remind me again
That I'm just a number in the system.
I will be thinking again
How I should leave everything.
Maybe move to another city, another country.
I comforted myself with the illusion of love,
Understanding and forgetfulness
But  deep in my heart, I knew
There is no country for immigrants.