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Zivan Vujcic

of

Bialystok, Poland

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Old Man

by

Zivan Vujcic

Sitting in the park on a beautiful sunny day
an old man, wrinkled like a turtle's skin
his hair all shades of grey
trembling hands resting on his chin

While memories keep flooding back
recollecting the times of his youth
when he used to walk on the same track
but now long gone-that's a sad truth

The same white bridge he used to cross
still spans the same river banks
but now stone arches green from gathered moss.
Since then a lot of water passed under
like echoes of a distant thunder,
between those times and now-an invisible trench

The same wooden park bench
where his thoughts used to wonder
but now rusty nails and rotten planks
bearing the tooth of passing time
since he was sitting there in his prime
watching people passing by yonder

Young mothers with children walking past
proud fathers showing them the world around
while from his glory days nothing but dust
'cos to walking stick he is now bound

Young couples strolling hand in hand
looking like a huge letter M
their names written in sand
once he had lovers too, now it's them

Strange thing this life
always spins like a wheel,
once it was him and his wife
at least he know how does it feel.
Now it's somebody else's turn
for love, lust, sadness and joy,
the whole life's energy to burn
but for an old man who's been there, done that
now it all seems just like a decoy


Tell me

by

Zivan Vujcic

When my mind is not very clear
I'm waiting for your words of wisdom to whisper in my ear
that you will drop like a ripe apple into my lap
and show me with a finger on the map
which way to go when I'm a bit lost,
how to face the challenges of another day
and how to avoid obstacles on my way,
but why do you disappear when I need you the most?

I'm like a sculptor listening to his muse
telling him which chisel to use,
which bit of stone to leave or to remove
guiding his hand to every surface and groove
to finally reveal his master piece
and break one more perception of human prejudice

I'm like a sailor lost in the high, stormy sea
Tell me, is it the way it always must be,
fighting the big waves, clutching for a straw,
looking for a lighthouse in the darkness
to lead me out of this mess
when life gives me yet another blow?

Destiny's Coin 2010.

by

Zivan Vujcic

So many secrets are lurking in the dark
waiting to be revealed and saved by the Noeh's ark
only if we could make the right choices
and hear their desperate for help voices,
as loose horses pulling the cart astray
we are in a constant battle to find our way

Destiny is like tossing a coin:
what it will be, heads or tails,
a friendly handshake or a kick in the groin,
but our choices are covered with veils

What is awaiting us just around the corner?
A walk in the park with ease,
a terrible disease or a harmless sneeze,
a parental gift of new life or a black-clad mourner

A love romance that will burn our heart
or bitter split up that will tear us apart,
a blissful relationship when 2 souls connect their lives
or endless quarelling between husbands and wifes

A life of joy, sharing, giving and brighter tomorrow
or loneliness, misery and constant sorrow?
All this and much more you could ask
when the destiny's coin is spinning in the air,
to choose the right decisions is not an easy task
knowing that all the weight is suspended on a strand of hair

Nights of Passion 2007.

by

Zivan Vujcic

At the first dusk something strange is taking place
a mystery is revealing its hidden face.
Secret lovers are going for a ride
far away from praying eyes, they flock into a forest to hide

Courting is nowadays out of fashion
instead, sex is order of the day
at every opportunity, everywhere, straight to the point
body fluids exchanged in passion
let's do it quickly in the car, skip foreplay
and afterwards we can roll a joint

Soon the bonnets will go bouncing up and down,
closed steamy windows silencing moans and groans,
desire consumed in a hurry at the edge of a town

Afterwards, hung on the branches of a tree
displayed to all passing by there to see
as a throphies of lust-discarded bras and pants.
The next morning just wandering ants
working their way through the forest floor
might wonder what's that white, sticky stuff in the grass
while someone is returning home with bare ass
on another night of passion the forest is closing its door

A Tramp

by

Zivan Vujcic

Unwashed, unkempt, dressed in rags
All his possessions in a few Tesco bags
Winter, summer but he is wearing the same
Human waste, but nobody to blame

He lost his dignity and crown
While the people look away or frown
How he parted from sanity and his mind
Which nobody can ever find

Behind him a trail of bad smell
But he doesn't know that he is unwell
Searching for food in the rubbish bins
A homeless tramp from his teens

He sleeps on the street like a dog
Talking to himself, his thoughts in a fog
Laughing at voices in his head
For his family he is probably dead

Once he was somebody's child
His parents' pride and joy
But his promising future turned wild
For that particular boy

Locked inside his own twisted world
Now he lives in a different reality
Totaly lost in insanity
He balances on a double edged sword

His mind drifted away
Like a bird abandoning its shell
In his eyes the sky is always grey
But what's in his heart-nobody can tell

The Day of the Dead

by

Zivan Vujcic

Widows and relatives in mourning
Walking among the gravestones this morning
On this day of the dead
Could see an epitaph which read:

'This world is a city full of streets
And death the merchant that all men meets.
If life were a thing that money could buy,
The poor could not live and the rich would not die'.

But deceased will not be returning
While candles are quietly burning,
Their bodies might rotten
But memories not yet forgotten

The deeds are done, the words spoken
The connections from this world all broken,
What is left here is just an empty space
With their slowly fading face

Yesterday they had a joy, they had a sorrow
But now when burried and dead
Nothing matters, because there's no tomorrow,
Six feet above their head
Grows grass and weeds
No more desires, no more needs,
No more troubles, no more worries,
Just distant voices, now forgotten stories

A tiny boat is swept by the big wave,
A journey from the cradle to the grave
Looks just like a little stroll
Everything is over now, you had it all
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the priest said
Rest in peace and now burry the dead.

Thoughts

by

Zivan Vujcic

Exploring the depths of my mind
I never know what I can find
Like looking for diamonds in a mine
Which I have to polish rough and then fine

As sunrays shining through droplets of rain
Hanging from the petals of a rose
Many thoughts coming out of my brain
Simply pass unnoticed under my nose

But if I try hard to put them in focus
Something strange is taking place
As in a magic word of hocus-pocus
They would come out together to embrace

My hopes, promises kept or broken
Feelings, worries, future and past
Everything written down or spoken
But life is a director and I'm just a cast

Welcome to the Club!

by

Zivan Vujcic

You know the feeling
When you wake up one day
The same film keeps unreeling
Looking at yourself in the mirror in a different way
Suddenly it dawns at you the plain truth
Without warning, as a sharp stabb
That you've lost your youth
Welcome to the club!

It happens to everybody, more or less
But plain like full moon
When 50 is looming soon
There's no escape
running in circles
Like some test mice caged in a lab
They say you aren't old, only ripe
Welcome to the club!

When your energy goes down the drain
Got painful joints, wrinkled skin, troubled heart
You are riding a slow train
Feeling nostalgic, self-pity,
If nothing better to do but go down to a pub
Because life is too much nitty-gritty
Then you became an old fart
So, welcome to the club!

To Anica

by

Zivan Vujcic

In my cloudy thoughts, hanging by a thread
The broken remnants of my past
Like the smell of a garlic bread
Still linger around my mind
Where they still want to last
As an old watch whose owner forgot it to wind
Well out of order, stuck
With damaged, rusty parts
The images of yesterdays hold me back

Among scattered maps and outdated charts
I'm the lost traveller still looking
For my way out of that nostalgic mess
Daydreaming about things which never were,
With just fond memories of her that I possess
But somehow in my thoughts I'm still there

Brainwashing

by

Zivan Vujcic

It's like drinking from an empty bottle
When you are forced just to obey
The brainwashing machine at full throttle
But there's a huge price to pay
Blindly following in a system where they rule,
Powerless, dragged against free will
You are just a straw in a whirlpool
Left alone to foot this enormous bill

Where to find a shelter
When obviously there's none
From hordes who claim to know better,
Who will always tell you how it should be done
Imposing things which I don't want or need,
While the ink is fading on a newspaper page
Which people so religiously read
I feel like a trapped animal in a cage