The Mirror

The Mirror

By Vladislav Petković-Dis

Thro’ conscience and nerves I can hear
A cloud of silence and a faint peace drift,
And a dense fog slowly gather and shift
Into a pall of ache and of many a tear.

I feel the touch of that decayed shroud,
I feel as if my self were leaving this form,
Damp earth that the lines does transform,
As the first soft whisper is growing loud.

As I behold the demise, dismal and slow,
Of a blind body an instinct invigorated by,
Of a sudden to a mirror I rivet my eye:

To see the lips that soon mute will go,
Tho’ still thirsting for a kiss, not for pain,
Not for a shroud, not for a mortal stain.

Translated from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

OGLEDALO

Kroz svest i nerve čujem da korača
Senka tišine i nejasna mira,
I gusta magla lagano se zbira
U pokrov bola, u zavesu plača.

Osećam dodir trulog ogrtača,
Sebe, da idem iz ovog okvira,
I vlagu zemlje, da linije spira,
Dok šapat prvi budi se i jača.

Gledeći kako izumire vreme
Slepome telu, što ga instinkt krepi,
Za ogledalo se pogled naglo lepi:

Da vidi usta što će da zaneme,
Mada još žedna poljubaca, nege,
A ne pokrova, ne mrtvačke pege.

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