That wind which the birds have abandoned,
That lasting mountain peak freshness,
That hunger which has made
Children’s eyes it’s home,
Those shells of human silence
In shallow murky waters of time…
All that will not solve meBefore an unrealised canvas I stand.

Which colour first claims,
Which word?

The fragrance of all arrives, overwhelmingly
Spills over the skin, sinking
Through flesh
To the blood.

Doors of the past are opening.

Images arrive under the faint light
Have worn out days.
Silver sand of memories…


A few more lines on the face…
A swift unforeseen bird
Begins me
I desire to see this day off
And to stay as young as I was without it.

I will not succeed.

Everything within me is changing into
The crying of unrestrained waters

And I still stand
Before an unrealised canvas
Attempting to remember
Which colour first pierced my eyes.

Milos Manojlovic