Alen Bešić
serbisch
Wells II
The last Sinhala word I lost
was vatura.
The word for water.
Forest water. The water in a kiss. The tears
I gave to my ayah Rosalin on leaving
the first home of my life.
More water for her than any other
that fled my eyes again
this year, remembering her,
a lost almost-mother in those years
of thirsty love.
No photograph of her, no meeting
since the age of eleven,
not even knowledge of her grave.
Who abandoned who, I wonder now.
Published with permission of the author
Aus: Handwriting
Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1998
Audioproduktion: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2010
Bunari II
Poslednja sinhalska reč koju sam izgubio
bila je vatura.
Reč za vodu.
Šumsku vodu. Vodu u poljupcu. Suze
koje sam prolio na rastanku sa ajom Rozalin
napuštajući svoj prvi dom.
Više vode za njom nego za bilo kim
što mi je opet iz pogleda pobegao
ove godine, dok sam je se sećao,
bezmalo majke izgubljene, tokom tih godina
žedne ljubavi.
Nemam nijednu njenu fotografiju, nismo se sreli
od moje jedanaeste godine,
ne znam čak ni gde joj je grob.
Ko je napustio koga, pitam se sad.