Jutra Jugova
The Mornings of the South
The blue hills hide in the eye,
the view shrinks into the narrowest circle;
the roads are filled with fleeing leaves
and the rains surge — the south wind stirs.
You look — the paths are covered in leaves.
In sorrowful longing, your thoughts sink:
those dear to your heart seem so near to you,
as if waiting for the final hour.
Some ancient sorrow breaks you,
a sorrow silently borne by your ancestors,
with the muffled clinking of old lastars
on some distant southern mornings of old.
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Skriše se u oku modri bregovi,
skuči se vidik u krug najuži;
cestama kruže lišća zbjegovi
i navriješe kiše – zajuži.
Pogledaš – puti lišćem zasuti.
U sjetnu želju misli potonu:
svi srcu dragi blizu da su ti
kao da čekaš uru potonju.
Slomi te neka tuga prastara
što je i predak ćutke tugova
uz mukli zveket starih lastara
u davna neka jutra jugova.
Aleksandar Leso Ivanović
