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Alija Kebo: The Bridge called Old

Old is his name, but old age did not touch him at all,
The bridge whose stones fill up the sun
Only here in the middle of magic
Is falling down and run away toward to the top of hills.
He still does not have any wrinkle
He raised beyond the time
Around him the town is settled.
Builders left to the death and glory, carrying burden
Where everything was started.
The river will never run dry in the scream
The stone suffers pain by unconcern
Slim like a girl’s waist
Connecting two coasts and two endlessness.
Above his bones the stars are burning –
The secret script of life was born there.
The spring is full of songs and it pours
The dream of our soul and the act of liberty.

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  • Author: Alija Kebo, writer and journalist (Bivolje Brdo, Čapljina, 1932)
  • Title: The Bridge called Old, 1982

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  • 2004-11-06

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