In the corner on a clay floor-a vacant cradle swayed.
At his father’s table an old man was sitting. With fragile
fingers he kept counting cigarette papers, adding a measure of Hercegovian tobacco.
Out of a large wooden vat, musty dry wheat scent flowed
through the air.
Next to narrow outlet, a blind feline waited in vain on an
uninvited prowler.
To exact revenge- for a sleepless night.
A child was sitting on a tottering stool, trying to pull moccasins onto bare feet.
Beds were still warm from human bodies –
unfinished dreams.
Outside, in the front yard – men’s voices echoed together
with an angry axe – cutting a tree which refused to die.
Mothers were calling their lambs.
Baby goats jumped around playfully like children.
In the kitchen an old woman cooked corn meal
and skimmed cream over boiling milk.
Smoke was exiting through the roof tiles cracks,
levitating towards the first rays of sunshine.
Morning prepared to greet a brand new day.
Life was flowing…..time was passing….
Cradle stopped swaying.
Old man rolled coarse tobacco -in
pieces of yellow newspaper, cursing destiny.
A child carried a linen bag over its shoulders
laden with innocent written wisdom.
Men’s voices distance enticed – and kept.
Trees were branching, no longer afraid of blade.
Getting used to loneliness.
Homes were disrobed by human hands.
To bare walls they gifted – hearth with no flame.
Old woman continued spinning on her devout distaff,
scanning the heavens with questioning eyes.
Now, when old pair are no longer here,
instead of red roof tiles white flakes cover the ruins.
Icy wind revels in its own madness, ousted boulders
losing foundation.
Solitary trees live from memories and wait – when will
south wind bring the scent of the sea and sun
its warmth.
Often when days are crying, the night becomes long
Like an inner deep nostalgic longing mood
and body so far away from mother’s roots,
in my heart the picture comes alive.
Picture and idiom of one childhood.
(C) Copyright Dinka Bednjacic
Dinka Bednjacic 