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In Epidaurum
at the beginning of the play
Lear is just

It is not before the end
that he traditionally 
appears as a dead man.

In the National theatre it doesn¢t take
too long to find a replacement for him.
Along with the lengthened eyelashes 
of some other life.

The management takes care of
his emergences on happy agoras.  
The audience applauds 
to the passed away tragedy.

He signs autographs. 
He throws his shirt
to the elated crowd.

He withdraws in his triumph. 
And in the very last moments
of an fading era 
he stops at the newsstand to buy
a sports betting ticket.

The morning finds him
in a massage salon. He washes
his face with volcano stones.
Not-yet-recycled and still
utilizable grains
of what was burned through.  

Relaxed, he is gazing
into the solarium sky. 

That bijouterie of blindness.


I have seen
a happy world. Falling
to pieces.  
Like young people do. .

On their Hondas. 
Stuck at a curve. 
Under the helmet of foolishness.  

I have seen the miserable.

They have been humble.
Quiet and shrewd. 

Finally all they wanted was               
to die. Although it was not 
always possible. Nor easy at all.                                     
As it happens,  
happiness means a distance. 

In an old opticians shop. Where                
the owner from time to time
puts off  his curious ocular.

But then, in spite of everything,
that happy moment bursts into.
And it whizzes by. So common.

Just like my neighbor¢s apron
spread on the wind. 
Out of which children never
cease to keep on swarming. 

One can clearly see
the milk boiled over                 
all these deserving years.  
Signed into elementary school.             
Just a moment ago.
Resembling the clouds.
Or their first certificate. 
And the ID of an angle.

With the mustache added      
by their mischievousness 
to the angel¢s face.  
And not wasting a moment,
They passed the image 
Via their cells to no one else –
But the Maker himself. 

Tanja Kragujević

Translated from Serbian into English by Marija Knežević