Zoran

Zoran from Serbian Krajina –

A bus driver in Malmo,

Fled during operation “Storm”.

He was just 22.

That evening, drinking a bottle of wine,

He told about wanderings.

The way the fate is unfair to ordinary people,

The way it was "before" - and will never be again …

On small red tractors,

Harnessed in vehicles of despair,

Under artillery bombardment,

In 40-degree heat –

The exhausted chess pieces were strolling,

On a board saturated with blood,

Lined by grey kings.

And when the danger was over,

On the very brink of a damned board,

Military police in waiting

Efficient men have withdrawn from families:

The pawns should protect their kings.

And squares of history –

In Belgrade, Zagreb and Washington.

He was injured,

By miracle he avoided captivity.

He had to start life over again,

After the war.

He worked as a taxi driver in Berlin.

And in a tobacco kiosk in Rome.

For several years

He’s been living with the fugitive from Dvor-na-Uni,

And her sons, teenagers,

In Sweden, in the city of Malmo …

They refused to come back home,

When they were offered –

The land is too bitter there …

What will grow on it

Except long thorns,

Poisonous, prickly memory?

Under a sceptre of the chess king …

In the evening, drinking a bottle of wine,

He talked about his wanderings.

Zoran, the bus driver in Malmo –

White pawn from Serbian Krajina.

2009.