I’m catching words.
And they keep escaping me.
I keep them through the stories of old nannies
With the smell of a bun from the bakery
Spring blossom
And mysterious Saharas.
I want to touch them.
Smell, feel
While through memories
Vessels, jars,
Wells and sinkers float
And some other time
He pulls himself and calls.
Well, in autumn, pickles and jams smell good
And sepeti full of September fruit
And you can see the sticks boiling from the morning milk
Quinces on the windowsill and lotus in the courtyards
And sofres are full of families at gatherings
And I can’t understand.
That these are pictures of a past century
That some new time takes us under its wing
And it brings alienation as a heavy burden.
And it seems to me that they are with those nostalgic years
The words of my tongue have gone.
Only sometimes do we pull them out of forgotten drawers.
Or some old, yellowed page reminds us of them.
And they grin and persistently run away
While the throat tightens in oblivion
And then I hear them in Sevdalinka
And I rejoice in our preserved treasures.
So I conjure up dimis, vests, shalwars and fezzes
And caddies, beautiful hanumas and delias,
And they walk into dreams
teferici, ashikluci and akshamluci
unsuspecting love and sleepless nights
tanani shadrvani and call to prayer from the minaret
And love for the mother’s breast
Which will never pass
Language, that powerful tool
He betrays me so many times.
And I want to keep it so much.
Keep like the most beautiful jewel
And to give to my children and grandchildren
I’m catching words.
Those beautiful sounding beauties
They get out through alleys and cobblestones
Basamaka and panzer
Neighborhoods and alleys
And I want us to guard them jealously,
We caress, care and proudly show
Let us never ask ourselves
who we are, where we are, what we are,
To not be strangers to each other
And we will keep it forever
In mysterious compartments
our hearts
And let us remember
That the language begins
From the child’s first spoken word
Until the last cry of the infirm old man.
SEMIRA JAKUPOVIĆ
