U Predvečerje

by Izet Sarajlić

Na igralištu

jedan mladić

svira na gitari

a iznad njega

prolijeće granata s Poljina.

 

Budući sarajevski Bulat Okudžava?

 

Mladiću,

samo mi ostaj živ,

a umjetnost,

koja je meni bila sve,

umjetnost je,

vjeruj mi,

sasvim nevažna!

At Dusk

by Izet Sarajlić

On the soccer pitch

a boy

strums his guitar;

overhead

a grenade flies in from Poljina.

 

Could he become Sarajevo’s own Bulat Okudžava?

 

 

Young man,

just focus on staying alive.

Art,

which for me was everything once,

art is,

trust me,

totally unimportant.

translated from Bosnian by Sara Nović
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