Rika jelena – Mika Antić mart 24, 2007

I onaj koji napada
I onaj koji se brani
imaju isto boriliste
Istu crkvu
Istu fresku u glavi.

Pa cemu onda sukob

To su,
u stvari,
dva ja jedne iste licnosti.

Jedno ja postuje te u borbi:
svesno,
razumno ja
i zato je unapred porazeno

Drugo ja prkosi postojecem,
jer hoce da ga silom promeni
i zato je i ono unapred porazeno

Svi su izgubili bitku vec unapred.

I pobedjeni

I pobednici

Ricu jeleni
Tuku se celima.
Stado kosuta drhti kao lisce

Vazduh se zgrusava od urlika.
Mirise ceo svet na snagu i na plodnost.

A onda:
upletu rogove
i umiru i pobedjeni i pobednik.

I dodje neki treci
mlitavi neki jelen
izlapeo,
neka poslednja vrebalica iz prikrajka
neko potpuno otrcano djubre od borca
i odvede sve kosute.

Sto ste mastali jeleni?
Sto ste se ubijali jeleni?
I onaj koji napada
i onaj koji se brani
-imaju isto boriliste
Istu crkvu
Istu fresku u glavi.
Bitku dobija treci.
Bitku dobija onaj koji je nije ni vodio.
Onaj koji jedino vreba sa strane,

Tako je prosao i taj umorni
osmi dan.

Bolest – Mika Antić mart 11, 2007

Volim te kao sveži beli zalogaj seljačkog znoja i truda
i dana jesenjih na crnoj popucaloj ravnici.

Proći će proleće kao san razbarušen i čudan

što liči crvenoj ptici.

Doleteće i odleteti danas sva cvetanja
bićemo i meki i okoreli, i u radost i u setu ćemo zaroniti.
Izgaziću tvrdim usnama tvoja ramena detinja,
a zvezde će zvoniti … zvoniti …

Ima u nama prostranstvo za koje ne znamo.
Izgubićemo se u njemu i opet dohvatiti.
Ima u nama srce, u krpe smeha i plača vezano.
Kako ćemo se iz sebe vratiti ?

Proći će proleća … Ona nose tragove i cvrkutanja.
Ona nose mir od kog se ruke ježe.
Mir. Samo malo mira, malo kiša, šaputanja,
tamo gde se nebo za njive zakiva i veže.

Mir radi budućih nemira, radi ludovanja,
na uzglavlju od tvojih toplih detinjih šaka,
pa da dugo zvazdama mašem i odzvanjam
prepun kikota i cvetnih naramaka.

Volim te. Eto. A nebo je u proleće plavo
kao nešto čega se nikad setiti neću.
Ništa … Samo crvene ptice nad glavom uzleću …

Without You – Adrian Henri mart 11, 2007

Without You.

Without you every morning would feel like going back to work after a holiday, Without you I couldn’t stand the smell of the East Lancs Road, Without you ghost ferries would cross the Mersey manned by skeleton crews, Without you I’d probably feel happy and have more money and time and nothing to do with it, Without you I’d have to leave my stillborn poems on other people’s doorsteps, wrapped in brown paper, Without you there’d never be sauce to put on sausage butties, Without you plastic flowers in shop windows would just be plastic flowers in shop windows, Without you I’d spend my summers picking morosley over the remains of train crashes, Without you white birds would wrench themselves free from my paintings and fly off dripping blood into the night, Without you green apples wouldn’t taste greener, Without you Mothers wouldn’t let their children play out after tea, Without you every musician in the world would forget how to play the blues, Without you Public Houses would be public again, Without you the Sunday Times colour suppliment would come out in black-and-white, Without you indifferent colonels would shrug their shoulders and press the button, Without you they’s stop changing the flowers in Piccadilly Gardens, Without you Clark Kent would forget how to become Superman, Without you Sunshine Breakfast would only consist of Cornflakes, Without you there’d be no colour in Magic colouring books, Without you Mahler’s 8th would only be performed by street musicians in derelict houses, Without you they’d forget to put the salt in every packet of crisps, Without you it would be an offence punishable by a fine of up to £200 or two months’ imprisonment to be found in possession of curry powder, Without you riot police are massing in quiet sidestreets, Without you all streets would be one-way the other way, Without you there’d be no one to kiss goodnight when we quarrel, Without you the first martian to land would turn round and go away again, Without you they’d forget to change the weather, Without you blind men would sell unlucky heather, Without you there would be no landscapes/no stations/no houses no chipshops/no quiet villages/no seagulls on beaches/no hopscotch on pavements/no night/no morning/ there’d be no city no country Without you. Adrian Henri

Ako Odeš… – Mika Antić mart 11, 2007