THE SOLDIER WHO REMAINED ON THE BATTLEFIELD
The murmur of death enters into his heart,
That's where the world lays
Germinated through the skull of the Sun.
The wind describes him as
The essence of the Sun that lays
Riddled,
Many times with sorrow of,
All areas of duration.
The sadness of autumn closes his eyes,
It radiates the collapse of death,
In one lament of
All waiting mothers for
The soldiers' return.
translation by SONJA ASANOVIĆ TODOROVIĆ
