"neretva" poems
what do i do but to resist
naming you the coldest earthling
when even the thinnest layer of smile
could bring warmth to every sleeveless heart
all the way to the upper Neretva.
1/21/16
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC
Minarets stand tall and sleek and
proud, announcing prayers at
intervals at odds with the
hourly bells of the basilica
Red rooves jostle for space
amid bullet-ridden history and
rejuvenated, freshly painted
homes and tourist-inducing
restaurants and market shops selling
trinkets: silk scarves, bronze pots
wooden flutes and ubiquitious
paintings of Stari Most
Crowds fill the lane leading
to the revered bridge, like pilgrims
A heady mix of peaceful
nations, short skirts
passing by headscarves
trading surreptitious glances
snapping photos of the bridge or
themselves and the bridge or
loved ones and the bridge
Watching with a rooftop drink
a bold and daring young man
small and youthful from a distance
encourages support and jumps
into the cold Neretva river
vigorously proving life goes on
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC