[Iz Dnevnika:
15.05.'40.

Prošlo je skoro godinu dana od kako sam postao službenik i nekoliko mjeseci od kako je Ivan otišao za Zagreb. Ne krivim ga, dobio je odličnu priliku biti šegrt detektivu, isto kao i ja.

Nadam se da će njegov prvi slučaj proći bolje nego moj. Na današnji dan je isto tako i godinu dana od smrti starca. I dalje nijedan svjedok i nijedan osumnjičeni.
Došavši u ured, na stolu pored rakije koju mi je Đorđe dao za poklon [i koja je već bila načeta], našao se neotvoren telegram.
Poslano juče.

"Dođi u Zagreb. Dogodilo se identično ubojstvo kao u Beogradu."
U potpisu: Ivan.

Zajedno s Klausom, koji je počeo raditi sa mnom u stanici, sam se zaputio ka Ivanu..]

"Moj druže beogradski, pogledaj - isti slučaj;
starac na podu, pismo - čitaj pa izračunaj
koje su šanse na ruke da nam iste lance

padnu...", nisko mu dole glava,
soba je netaknuta, nije obijena brava.
Pismo u ruci, jesul' ovo more?
San postaje java, a u javu sve dublje i dublje tonem...

"Ovaj put je pismo skriveno,
Iza ormana, virilo iz rupe...
Gled'o sam, svašta u njemu je rečeno..."
Osjetih teret dok mi dao ga u ruke.

"Iako mi do sad sva rđava djela;
Kunem se svime, svojom mrtvom kćeri;
Ovo što pišem istina je cijela..."
Čitam k'o akter u nekakvoj zavjeri.

"Davnijeh dana, prošloga nam rata,
bio sam mladić, redov u toj četi,
Kad zastava s Beograda je pala,
s njom su nam pali svi naši zavjeti."

"Ostali iza - a narod ka Golgoti;
pljačkali, krali - što nam u ruke palo;
Nas tri zla, na kradji nije stalo,
jedne se proklete noći čak i silovalo..."

Šta je ovo?! Majku li mu jebem sto puta!
I onaj i ovaj mrtvac, pa čak i Milunka,
se sjatili na moju familiju k'o muve na govna

Kakva silovanja moga oca?!
"Evo tu ti piše..."
Ma boli me kurac što piše, to što piše sve odiše lažima!
"Čitaj dalje!", Ivan na me vikne, a glas me probija
u srce k'o zarđalim čavlima.

Izgubljen u Zagrebu, izletio iz stana
k'o najveći lopov u tminu, na grani neka vrana
ili gavran, opet crni, tu je, gleda - dušman krvni,
idi ptico, Bog te ned'o, dosta sam te noćas gled'o!

Gdje god ti si, uvijek sranje, posrtanje pa padanje,
samo laži uvijek daješ, a istina ko zna šta je!
Ovu istinu k'o pas žvačeš...
Lažeš, ptico, dobro to znadeš,
lažeš, 'tico, k'o pas lažeš!

Ovo pismo u džepu, ovo pismo ništa nije
k'o ova prokleta čaša što od mene dno krije.
Ma jebem vam majku svima... ostavite mi oca na miru!
Vi ste svi otrovi... vi ste svi zmije!
Vi ste svi lažljive zmije...

"E moj druže beogradski - znali smo gdje j' najlakše;
a gdje drugdje nego slomljenog na dnu flaše."
Pustite me, pseta, zmije, laže vam jezik crni,
bacite me kerovima tu na ovoj jad-kaldrmi!

Ivan:
"Dosta! Dokle ćeš jadan biti,
pijanduro jebena, u flaši se ne mo'š skriti!
Veća se sranja događaju ovih dana,
da ti je teško, shvatam, al' sjene su iznad Balkana!

"Ćaća mi rek'o: Glavu sagni, mudro šuti,
Od smrti kralja nešto gadno tu se muti.
Bojim se da će prošli rat biti igra
naspram ovog novog kad na vrata nam umaršira."

Klaus:
"Moj druže, muka je tvoja teška,
savjetujem riješi je prije toga metka
jer moja gruda, odakle moj je tata,
već je pripojena, čak i bez objave rata."

"Kod nas se slavi, u mome domu radost,
stariji vole slavit' taman pred što gine mladost,
a Balkan slijepi, oči sebi voli vadit'
više nego jezikom istini se ponizno obratit'..."

Evo opet smo zorom u kafani, sjećate l' se kad sam
s vrata pit'o: "Hoćel' biti rata?"
Gle kako li su sada odgovora druga data.
Koja li je budućnost za Njemca, Srbina, Hrvata?
Čeka li nas puška, pero, truba il' lopata?
Zareknimo se, oči u oči, brat do brata,
na nišanu nikad, bilo il' ne bilo rata.

"Kunem se krvlju svojom, ne bio živ ja nikad,
ako se na nišanu nađe bilo koji ikad!
Ako dođe da nas puška zove, ruke ove neće na vas."
"Kunem se i ja, rode, milijeg od vas nemam,
pucati nikad neću, prije ću da se predam!"
Sva trojica, jutro ovo u kafani;
Zavjeti su izrečeni, zavjeti su dani.

[Iz Dnevnika
13.04.'80. - Mladi Uskrs

Nakon skoro 40 godina se vraćam na ovo mjesto.
Put me vodi kroz sela, ovaj put s njom pod ruku. Gomile ljudi dolaze autobusima.
Bože dragi, koliko smo tuge ovdje proživjeli.
Trudim se biti što smireniji, no osjetim kako mi suze naviru na oči.
Pale su niz obraze kad sam u daljini vidio prošlost i malog Vasu.]


Oni spavaju svi do jednog, redom,
U plitkom grobu, neskrštenih ruku,
Bez svog pokrova i pod teškom bijedom,
I trunu mirno kao u sanduku.

Oni spavaju, nesebični, blagi,
S ranama živim i mrtvim očima,
Velike duše kao kamen dragi,
Vječita pjesma koju im otima.

Oni spavaju, ti naši sinovi,
U svojoj krvi, bezbrižni k’o 'tići,
Zaboravljeni k’o mrtvi krinovi,
I ponositi k’o stari plemići.

Oni spavaju po Balkanu cijelom,
Za dobro tuđe, za spas svog plemena:
Nikad ne bijahu sa zastavom bijelom,
Ti mladi momci velikog vremena!

Oni spavaju prosti, bez ukrasa,
I njine grudi gusti crvi plave;
I dok se gube iz svog lijepog stasa,
Humke im rastu u cvjetove slave.




ENGLISH:

AS LONG AS THERE'S NO NEW WAR

[FROM DIARY
15.05.'40.

It has been almost a year since I've became an officer and a few months since Ivan left for Zagreb. I don't blame him, he got a great opportunity to be an apprentice detective, just like me.
I hope his first case goes better than mine..
Today also marks one year since the old man's death. Still no witnesses and no suspects.
As I arrived at office, there was an unopened telegram on the table next to the brandy that Đorđe had given me as a present [which had already been opened].
Sent yesterday.

"Come to Zagreb. There was an identical murder as in Belgrade."

Signed: Ivan.

Together with Klaus, who started working with me at the station, I headed towards Ivan..]


"My friend from Belgrade, look - the same case;
old man on the floor, letter - read it and calculate
what are the chances that we will both end up in the same chains?!"

His head is low, the room is intact,
The lock has not been picked, the window not cracked.
The letter is in hand, the nightmare begins again;
The dreams become reality and I sink deeper and deeper into it.

"This time the letter was hidden,
behind the closet, tucked in a hole;
I've read it, a bunch of stuff was written..."
I felt my shoulders carried the weight of the world

"I know all my deeds were rotten,
But I swear, on my dead daughters name,
Everything I'm writting is only the truth..."
I read the letter, full of written words of blame

"Ages ago, during the Great War,
I was a young man, my company - a private in it,
When the flag from the Belgrade fell,
All our wovs and honor fell with it"

"We've stayed behind and people went through hell,
We robbed, we stole - whatever our hands could grab,
Us three bastards, we didn't only stopped at theft,
One damned night...there was even a rape..."

What the fuck is this?!
Fuck this asshole and all of his lies!
First and now this victim, as well as Milunka,
they flock to my family like flies to shit

What rapes did my father do?!
"Here, it's written there..."
I don't give a fuck what was written, it's a bunch of god damned lies!
"Keep on reading!", Ivan shouts at me, and his voice pierces me
into the heart like rusty nails.

Lost in Zagreb, I ran out of the apartment
like thief into the night, I can hear some crow above me
or again that black old raven, watching me like beast, so cruel;
Run away, you damned bird, I've had enough of you!

Whenever you appear, doom follows, more and more evil comes;
You always bring lies upon more lies, when will truth finally arrive?
You are chewing that truth like dog chews some bones.
That's the only thing you do so fucking well,
you lie so elegantly like you came from hell.

This letter in my pocket, that letter is nothing,
like this empty glass that's inviting right in front of me.
Fuck all of you, you fucking assholes, leave my father alone!
You are all snakes, but now your cover is blown!

"My friend from Belgrade - we knew where to find you,
just follow trail of empty bottles, it will lead us through to bars..."
Leave me alone, you lying snakes, your tongue is full of venom,
let me die on this sidewalk, next to my puke and some cars...

IVAN:
"Stop! You fucking disgrace!
How long will you do this to yourself?!
Always trying to find the meaning at the bottle's end.
Some bigger shit is happening around us these days,
Dark shadows over Balkan are looming, our house is ablaze!"

"My father told me: Be quiet and keep your head low,
Since the death of a king, some new and unseen storm
is arriving and will be bigger compared to the last war.
This new one will burn and destroy us all."

KLAUS:
"My friend, I really do feel your pain,
but trust me, be done with it before it's too late.
My homeland, from where my father hailed,
it is annexed and your country could be next."

"At my home there's joy, a great jubilation,
My father screams: "Finally, we have become one true nation!"
But Balkan is blind, always gouging out it's own eyes
thinking that is better, keeping head down, hoping all will pass."

Look at us, again seeking dawn at bars,
Do you remember when I've asked: "Will there be a new war?"
Look at those answers now, they are so different than before.
What future awaits a German, Serbian and Croat?
Is it a gun, a shovel, trumpet or a quill?
Let's make a promise face to face, all in good will,
We will never shoot at each other in war and peace,
we will not shoot at brothers.

"I swear on my blood, let me die instantly
if my rifle ends up seeking any of your lives.
If war ends up calling, these hands will not have your blood!"
"I also swear, my brothers, I will never answer that call,
If I had to choose between you, I'd rather die in the mud!"
All three that morning in the tavern
said their wovs and said their bonds.

[FROM DIARY
13.04.'80. - Young Easter

After almost 40 years I am returning to this place.
The road takes me through the villages, this time with her by the hand. Crowds of people arrive by bus.
Dear God, how much sadness we have experienced here.
I try to be as calm as possible, but I feel tears welling up in my eyes.
They fell down my cheeks when I saw the past and little Vaso in the distance.]

They sleep, all of them, in a row,
In a shallow grave, with uncrossed arms,
Without a cover and underneath severe misery,
And rot like in a casket.

They sleep and are unselfish and mild,
With living wounds and dead eyes,
Great souls like gemstones,
An eternal song that takes away from them.

They sleep, those sons of our ours,
In their blood, carefree like birds,
Forgotten like dead lilies,
And proud like old noblemen.

They sleep all over the Balkans,
​For other​s’ good, for the salvation of their tribe:
They were never with a white flag,
Those young men of a great time!
​
They sleep simple, without decoration,
With their chests as thick blue worms;
And while they depart from their nice stature,
Their mounds grow into flowers of glory.