in the middle of nirvana, ashima wakes up
she doesn't know how she reached this sphere
full of silver lights and black silhouettes
everyone she knows seems to be present

greyly shimmering leaflets are floating
through the air, gently, like mist
and red fireflies are clapping their wings
the crowd of shadows is starting to sing:

"ashima, you have come a long way to us
we are the voices of nirvana, listen
nirvana is the deep core of your soul
the land of your most secret wishes

sometimes, in your dreams, you reach out
when you are waiting for a train and the
rays of the sun are reflecting your thoughts
you never find us but we know where you are

you may call us your wishes, we belong to you
as ****, as branko and your mom do
are you the imitation of your dreams, ashima?
or do your dreams imitate you, our girl?

certainly, you will become the thing you dread
we know that you took revenge recently
when you were slashing the *******'s throat
as his blood was slowly flowing into the sheets"

in the middle of her apartment, ashima wakes up
she becomes aware of a crinkled and dark leaflet
it is more than twenty years old, informing about
something that ashima can not read anymore

the letters on the leaflet have become dust
ashima is taking a deep breath and sighs
her pitbull branko is strolling towards her
his wet tongue, ashima thinks, feels cute

ashima abraham
teenage girl
needed love
desperately

she thought the reason for her
despair might been her longing

while her longing was nothing but
normal and the origin of her
despair might been
fear

one day she met an older guy
his name **** black he a
forensic officer

investigators like him look for
traces under dead body's fingernails
stuff like that

until ashima met **** her
love was exclusively reserved to
her pitbull
his name was branko

a fearsome creature

walking thru the valley of words
speechless are our soldiers in war
times of creative breaks, shootings
the sounds of slugs overpower rivals

gangstapoets stand tall in gory hoods
we dunno what fear is, bloodhoundz
as we only need 8 minutes to gather 80
0 traitors, giving bread to hungry ones

one tower, one pit, one block, 1LOVE
feel me rushing over sparklin' glaciers
south florida, 64th floor, ocean fiends
snake charmer in crime, 20 to 55, flip

kobacobraface scammed one of us
unknown were the ties among tizz and gp
in the background, jeezy and assi-toni...

"still on it", "the realest", "kommenzi"
the beats merge in gangstapoet's minds
dominique northstar's silky skin on mine
tissop, the war zones, fallen gangsta poets

dead baby mommas, vamoosing bullets
stop! tizzop is yelling, falling on his knees

and branko, tizzop's red horse approaches
juicy our promises, as sweet as fulfillments
olives, red wine, m2 tec bluetooth babe
red light district, wondaland's lost avenue

in the corner of agony and mania, dey fail
gangstapoets gradually winning turf


to be continued...

I wake her for the Sun that explains itself though plants
For the sky stretched between fingers
I wake her for words which burn the throat
I love her with my ears
One should go to the ends of Earth and find the dew on the grass
I wake her for some distant things
That look alike the ones
Here
For the people with no face nor name passing down the street
For the anonymous words of squares I wake her for the
Manufactured landscapes of public parks
I wake her for this planet of ours that might become a mine in the bleeding sky
I wake her for the smiles in the stone of comarades that fell asleep
Between two battles
When sky was no longer a big birdcage but
An airport
My love full of others is a part of dawn
I wake her for the dawn, for love, for myself, for others,
I wake her, even if it is more in vain than to call a bird
That landed forever
She must have said: let him look for me and see that I am gone
That woman with the hands of child that I love
That child fallen asleep with tears still not wiped, which I wake
In vain, in vain, in vain
In vain I wake her
For she will wake up different and new
In vain I wake her
For her mouth will not be able to tell
In vain I wake her
You know the water runs through but says nothing
In vain I wake her
A lost name should be promised to someone's face in sand
If it's not so cut off my arms and turn me into a stone.


Written by Branko Miljkovic
Iconic Serbian poet, one of the leaders of Neo Symbolist movement
This translation was provided by A. Milanovic