Desanka Maksimovic
BLOODY FAIRY TALE
It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on one single day.
They were all born
in the same year.
For all of them, the school days were the same:
They were all taken
to the same festivals with cheer,
they were all vaccinated
until the last name,
and they all died on the same day.
It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on one single day.
And only fifty-five minutes
prior the death moment,
a small troop of fidgets
sat beside their school desks
solving the same hard math quest:
“If a traveler goes by foot,
how much time he needs to rest...”
and so on.
Their thoughts were filled
with same figures and tags
and there was a countless amount
of senseless As and Fs
in their notebooks and in their bags.
They were squeezing
a whole bunch of secrets that mattered--
either patriotic or a love letter--
on the bottom of their pockets.
And everyone of them supposed
that he would for a long time,
for a very, very long time
run under the blue sky--
until all math quests on the world
were done and gone by.
It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on the same day.
Whole rows of boys
took each other’s hands
and leaving the last school class
went to the execution quietly,
as the death was nothing but a smile.
All friends in rows were,
at the same moment,
lifted up to the eternal domicile.
Desanka Maksimovic
KRVAVA BAJKA
Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u jednom danu.
Iste su godine
svi bili rodjeni,
isti su im tekli skolski dani,
na iste svecanosti
zajedno su vodjeni,
od istih bolesti svi pelcovani,
i svi umrli u istom danu.
Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom Balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u jednom danu.
A pedeset i pet minuta
pre smrtnog trena
sedela je u djackoj klupi
ceta malena
i iste zadatke teske
resavala: koliko moze
putnik ako ide peske...
i tako redom.
Misli su im bile pune
istih brojki
i po sveskama u skolskoj torbi
besmislenih lezalo bezbroj
petica i dvojki.
Pregrst istih snova
i istih tajni
rodoljubivih i ljubavnih
stiskalo se u dnu dzepova.
I cinilo se svakom
da ce dugo,
da ce vrlo dugo
trcati ispod svoda plava
dok sve zadatke na svetu
ne posvrsava.
Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom Balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u istom danu.
Decaka redova celi
uzeli su se za ruke
i sa skolskog zadnjeg casa
na streljanje posli mirno
kao da smrt nije nista.
Drugova redovi celi
istog casa se uzneli
do vecnog boravista.
