Daughters’ poem
I used to go into the forest
When I was sad, these days I just take a bath
And more and more I see eternity
As watter that keeps on flowing somewhere
We ran out of watter this morning
So all those daggers , glass, sabers and spears in my back
Are heavier, well more than usual
I am in my bed
Father is in the kitchen
He cooks when he is sad
His hands smell like cooked meat
My hair smells like cooked meat
Our house smells like cooked meat
Whole universe smells like cooked meat
Father is cooking since yesterday
He is coughing his heart out right into those pots
With cooked meat
Ones that he will threw out
To the dogs
Fathers’ poem
Today I made Beef Bourguignon
Road to Zen served in deep bowls
Paved with velvety mashed potato
If I was carrying whole worlds burden
On my back
I would forget about it in those couple of hours
French made delicacies, known all over the world
Out of their peasant dishes
We did the same thing in first half of the 90´s
We even invented new ones
In the second half we tried hard
To forget everything
New millennium brought oblivion
And bumps on the floor
All those things we threw under the rug
I used to make this dish in a vacation house
For my brother and our friends
My brother is long gone, and our friends,
Lucky ones, isolated in their homes
I served it in my living room, among the books,
In front of the TV
News looked like SF movie
People in white uniforms and masks
Throwing bodies in bags, one over the other
That ruined my effort and my Zen
So, I changed the channel and watched
Masha and the Bear
Today I saw one of my friends,
I used to share Beef Bourguignon
With him
Anyway, he didn’t see me
Because he was in one of those bags
On a pile
Naida Mujkić & Mirza Okić
Photo of Italian Graffitti by Rupert Loydell