Andriana Škunca
Shadow
Pierced by blackberries the shadow squeezed itself into the rock-garden, crawling between jagged sinkholes, dragging its bruised vertebrae.
Stretched into a thin thread it glues itself to hollowed places. Cracked it hangs in drops. Farther away it gushes out of the underground stream, following us everywhere. Constantly tied to some suffering that resides in us – like a broken staff it leans on.
It takes us along its edges, or we do so. It crumbles from the sun, from burned-out rays: it condenses in the ash that marks it.
When the sky is overcast, it\'s extended over the whole day.
And everything is a shadow where there is no shadow.
Sjena
Sjena
Probodena kupinama sjena se uvukla u kamenjar, puzi između naoštrenih škrapa, vuče za sobom ogrebene pršljenove.
Razvučena u tanku nit lijepi se za izdubena mjesta. Popucala visi u kapima. Malo dalje iznova izbija iz podzemna tijeka, prati nas razasuta svuda naokolo. Stalno privezana za neku muku u nama – poput slomljena štapa o koji se naslanja.
Vodi nas rubom svoga protega ili mi vodimo nju. Mrvi se iz sunca, iz dogorjelih zraka: sažima u pepeo koji je naznačuje.
Za oblaka, sva istegnuta u dan.
I sve je sjena kad nje nema.
From: Predivo sve užih dana
Publisher: Društvo hrvatskih književnika, Zagreb
Shadow
Pierced by blackberries the shadow squeezed itself into the rock-garden, crawling between jagged sinkholes, dragging its bruised vertebrae.
Stretched into a thin thread it glues itself to hollowed places. Cracked it hangs in drops. Farther away it gushes out of the underground stream, following us everywhere. Constantly tied to some suffering that resides in us – like a broken staff it leans on.
It takes us along its edges, or we do so. It crumbles from the sun, from burned-out rays: it condenses in the ash that marks it.
When the sky is overcast, it\'s extended over the whole day.
And everything is a shadow where there is no shadow.
From: Predivo sve užih dana
Shadow
Pierced by blackberries the shadow squeezed itself into the rock-garden, crawling between jagged sinkholes, dragging its bruised vertebrae.
Stretched into a thin thread it glues itself to hollowed places. Cracked it hangs in drops. Farther away it gushes out of the underground stream, following us everywhere. Constantly tied to some suffering that resides in us – like a broken staff it leans on.
It takes us along its edges, or we do so. It crumbles from the sun, from burned-out rays: it condenses in the ash that marks it.
When the sky is overcast, it\'s extended over the whole day.
And everything is a shadow where there is no shadow.
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