pain

A Poem To My Dead Brother, Who Fought The War In Bosnia

Installation by Laurent Pernot

 

 

Grief is the old woman who follows me daily

I walk into a cafe, I order a drink, I try to get

Rid of that nasty smoke smell in my hands

And wait for her to appear

She wears long winter coats, and she also

Drinks and smokes

We look at each other in a complete silence,

until I get out of the cafe.

Every day I’m running into a different place

But wherever I go I wait for her, actually

 

Some days

I wear my brother’s M-65 field jacket

I wander through the city remembering

That morning when I left my heart

in the mountains

The air was clear as the words of a child

And frightened birds were falling in a loose clouds

 

I wander through the streets in his jacket,

as if he wanders himself

Men pass by me in a hurry, maybe

Sweet girls laugh at me, maybe

The guards in the clothing shops watch over me

As if I’m gonna steal all the pretty dresses from their store, maybe

 

Those days

only street dogs follows me, stray dogs, so numerous in this city

Dogs who could be our good friends if we didn’t

So cruelly rejected them

As we often throw away the clothes of dead ones

assuring ourselves that we’ll get out of delirium

easier.

 

My dead brother’s M-65, Naida M.

 

—

Naida M. has published two books of poetry. She has a master’s degree in humanities. She survived the war in Bosnia. And loves to make cakes.

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