I was read­ing a poet
who felt sorry
for a bee
he had killed
I nev­er met him
to ask him
if he ever repented
for what he had done
one June afternoon
just before a storm
I was on the phone
when a bee flew into the room
buzzing
and bounc­ing off the glass
from time to time
with­out hang­ing up
I grabbed a notepad
and on sec­ond try
plas­tered it against the windowpane
then from the kitchen
I took a napkin
col­lect­ed the bee
wiped the stains
off the glass
crum­pled it all into a ball
and threw it in the trash can
I fin­ished my conversation
sat in an armchair
and looked out the window
I was think­ing about the poet
who wrote the poem
about a bee
dart­ing around his face
as he read the newspaper
and the cre­ative surge
he must have felt
then.
 

 

Oduz­i­man­je

 

Čitao sam pesnika
koji je žalio
za pčelom
koju je ubio

nisam ga nika­da sreo
da bih ga upitao
da li se ikad pokajao
zbog toga što je uradio

u jun­sko poslepodne
neš­to pred pljusak
dok sam raz­go­varao telefonom
pčela je uletela u sobu
zujala je
povre­meno se odbijajući
o prozor

ne preki­da­jući vezu
doh­va­tio sam notes
i iz dru­gog pokušaja
zale­pio je za staklo

onda sam iz kuhinje
uzeo salvetu
obrisao mrlju
poku­pio mrtvu pčelu
i bacio je u kan­tu za đubre

završio sam razgovor
seo u fotelju
i gledao oblake
kako posta­ju sve tamniji

mis­lio sam o pesniku
koji je napisao pesmu
o pčeli
koja se vrz­mala oko nje­gov­og lica
dok je čitao novine

i u kolikom je
stvar­alačkom zanosu
on bio tada.
 

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