By Sima Pandurović

Once things slip from our hands
And our joy withers as a flower,
When darkness falls and lands
On the world of old illusions sour,

We’ll have no regrets and fears
For tired of all we will already be
For eve, rest and death will be
The joy to be drowned in tears.

Once the shadow of fair, silent death
Appears before us on an odd day,
It will softly wipe all our woes away.
In their own time, all things lose breath.

Translation from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović


Kad se sve iz ruke bude pustilo
I radost naša svene, kao cvet;
Kada se veče bude spustilo
Na naših starih iluzija svet,

Nećemo više ništa žaliti,
Jer svega ćemo biti davno siti,
Jer će nam veče, odmor i smrt biti
Sreća koju će suza zaliti.

I kada senka dobre smrti neme
Pojavi se pred nas jednog čudnog dana,
Biće nam blagi melem sviju rana.
Sve umire onda kada mu je vreme.



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