Stari Most
In Southern Bosnia
where I first knew you
where there was so much death
there was a beautiful bridge
you can't kill memory
where there is a beautiful bridge
this is a story about Mostar
a story about Stari Most
but no, it's a story about us
and the fight we had
on the beautiful bridge
and how I swore to you
we would both grow old
there would be no war
you didn't listen (I remember)
you kept on slapping me
we got home we didn't speak
we made japrak and chorba
we cried and held each other tight
later they tortured you
then they killed you
it was a beautiful bridge
all the water gone
of course I write this.
An extraordinary poem Rob, Packs a punch and is simultaneously so quiet.
ReplyDeleteThanks for listening, Susan. I taught lots of Bosnian refugees for AMES in Melbourne years ago in the 90's...and some of them became good friends. That is where this comes from.
DeleteVery moving. The poem is terrifying and the bridge metaphor is excellent.
ReplyDeleteCheers, Myron. I don't usually tear up when I'm working a poem, but...
ReplyDelete..incredibly painful. Fantastic poem, Rob.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Efi.
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