Poem About A Flower (Branko Miljkovic)

A little flower
had just opened his lid,
but he already knew the Sun's secrets
and what the Earth hid.

A little flower
didn't know how to walk in line,
but he knew how to feed himself
with water, air and sunshine.

A little flower
doesn't know to read or count dice,
but he knows what life means
and smells so nice, so nice.

Through The Midnight Air (Djura Jaksic)

Through the midnight air and densly woven trees
The stars are seen to to sparkle and to gleam,
Hearts' pounding interrups the gentle breeze -
Oh, take it easy through those dense trees!

Nearby a stream meanders ahead,
There where flowers rest in flower beds,
That's where courtship awaits and no one sees -
Oh, take it easy through those dense trees!

I'll fall, I'll die, my soul's aflame,
It will melt me by the break of day,
Like a flake of snow at fifty degrees -
Oh, take it easy through those dense trees!

(1861)

Warning (Desanka Maksimovic)

Listen, I'll tell you my secret:
Never leave me alone
when music plays.
It could seem to me
that some eyes gray
are so deep and soft,
the eyes that are actually plain.
It could seem to me
that I dive into the sound
and I could give my hands
to anyone around.
It could seem to me
so easy, so gay
to love someone
for only one day.
Or, I could tell someone
my dearest,
magically growing secret
how much I love you.
Oh, never leave me alone
when music plays.
It could seem to me that again,
somewhere in a forest,
my tears flow through a new well.
It could seem to me that a black butterfly
makes patterns on heavy water--
those that no one feels free to tell.
It could seem to me that somewhere in the dark zone
someone sings and with a bitter flower
touches my heart where the incurable wound stays.
Oh, never leave me alone,
never alone,
when music plays.

Spring Poem (Desanka Maksimovic)

While watching all these early buds and swallows,
I can feel tonight
that my heart’s slowly growing over sorrows
as someone’s horizon on smiley days might;
That it’s getting bigger like all plants around
and as light as feather,
and that all happiness that’s above the ground
and a Hell of pain wouldn’t really matter:

It’s longing for all things that a life as such
could give nice to thy,
and completely nothing wouldn’t be too much--
it’s eager desire and hopes are so high.
Everything that’s happened has been just a play
of my heart on fire;
my true love has never been given away
as much as I could and as I desire;

There are, in my deeps, gentle tides of words
never let outside;
I could give my heart to everyone on worlds,
yet, it would remain a lot of it inside.