熱帶魚

Le Journal de Zlata
-Trans. for T, to Tau

-I admit that I know nothing, I no doubt is a “child”, while politics is all about “adults”.Somehow I feel that being “childlike” is better for politics, for we won’t choose to fight…….

When dream and history bleeds
Your pen suck and use it
A journal so thin and tiny
But concentrate the whole universe
Volume so deep

Someone proclaim the truth
With blood with fire
With deadbody overlapped
But you easily found God
In between life and death
At the underground so dark
With four walls

Bullets crash thru and thru the skynight
The stars you belong to
Crash thru the myth the round round moon
Tanke roll over and over the spring soil
Where your footsteps playingful running over
Rolling over the childhood the deadbody of your beloveds
Twisted roads helplessly running over and over
Bursting toward the endless darkness……….

Such an everynight
In the firedrills and screamings and sound of firebombs
A firedragon rush you into the dream
A dreamy dragon erected you
As you wake up you need to face the four cold walls
Layers by layers wrapping the hurt underground
The hurt underground hurt the moan
And so you fiercelessly writing like mad
The hurt floods from the flooding tip of your pen
From every blood vessels, floods…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
From the wet frame of your eyes

If there’re my friends who fall down
No matter they are sierens or muslims
No matter
If the hands holds tight the soil of homeland or
Riffles………
Let alone Your pen suck the blood!
………….
And note down a line and line
The carnival of bloody lines…………………..!!!!!!!!!
If
There is a baby being baptized by the fire of war.
The light of the fire burnt the skin and the eyes first opened
(Ohhhhhhhhhhh……………)
You shall jot down the tao of the beginnings……
Mourning….in the heart burst like mad mourning in the wasted wasteland
Mourning the history of the first man
If there’s a rose not yet blossom but withered…..

A wedding interrupted in a series of war
A series of bullets separated a kisses so refined
You shall note down the falling petals
Note down the falling tears the falling love…
Or the falling body of the lovers

Sometimes you sleep in your own prayers
A kingdom in the dream thus come
So quietly….
Sarajevo is a city of children
All the tank are so small
Like toys
The walls between man and man thus collapsed!
The wall called politics callapsed!!!!!
Spring soil running over the eternal childhood!!
A star spring thru your throne……

When blood and tears are dried off
Civilization and history but left with its dried frame
The thin journal but gradually become bone and flesh
A white dove wave its wings and fly out!

Transformer: Chantelle Tiong

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