Always after three, the most seven days
Your voice for a minute
How my window in Berlin radiates!
The air appears to create waves,
The morning bells I hear already.
Even the iron attempts to tell me,
That it is prepared, to iron my shirt.
Always after three, the most seven days
Your laughter, your weeping, a fragment only –
Like a tear clear is life,
Shining through the fate of the persecuted.
For S.
Stevan Tontic (20th century) Bosnia
Translated by Hatto Fischer
Source: Create and Do
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