I was with you once, mother, talk about colors,
About how the eyes are not the only authoritative ones
to see those same colors;
“Close your eyes, son, you will see the colors in yourself,
you will see my favorite colors. Red and black.”
Red and black. Black and red. Red … Black …
The colors told me everything, dear mother.
With black, you told me to be afraid,
That fear takes you.
He takes you with all his bitterness
Which stays with you for a long time, long in the mouth,
And he lives there together with the red,
which burns you from within!
The red lamen that burns you, it hurts,
at the same time it maintains,
that a half-empty soul may not fly,
or don’t sink to the bottom.

I stared at the whiteness.
Cold and soft,
A whiteness that calmed my soul.
I touched her,
Dear mother,
And defiled all her majesty.
Forgive me!

Dusan Stojkovic