SILVER STARS

Flickering words over the fields above the gypsy wagons.
And a miraculous contact with fire erases all their past
While the gypsy waited for night to hide the starry stories
Her dreams became the illusions of wandering and her song sad
               and cursed

The immersive silent songs of the gypsy in the murky river sank
And from her soul as if the silver stars had disappeared
Eyes cannot be closed by the guard as the gypsy is the one
               who sleeps in silence
It was as if she wanted to bring joyfulness and warmth
               back to all homes.

Black night empties with the hands of the gypsy mockingly
               and seemingly silently
And while the strange fire doesn’t want to turn twilight
into a white day
Sad and tired, she wanted to express what her soul was dreaming
Early lost dreams in the late hours petrified silent
Eyes filled with tears stirred up with silver stars

FAIRY TALE AND HEART

Fortune Teller you were born with a gypsy wagon and white horses.
The weather has become dark and heavy
Happiness hung from the branches of a dry tree
You whispered words from dry and hungry lips
A forgotten fairy tale will remain the pain of your life

You wanted to become a source of dreams yes
You tell fortunes of the unfortunate dark-skinned with ashes
She spoke your grandmother’s tongue of fire
And thirst quenched from the rivers of your forefathers

You name night devils with drums
You sing them a song of departure
You melt lead and sweat a tired face
By talking about the hearth, you put the body to sleep


SILVER STARS

Flickering words over the fields above the gypsy wagons.
And a miraculous contact with fire erases all their past
While the gypsy waited for night to hide the starry stories
Her dreams became the illusions of wandering and her song sad
               and cursed

The immersive silent songs of the gypsy in the murky river sank
And from her soul as if the silver stars had disappeared
Eyes cannot be closed by the guard as the gypsy is the one
               who sleeps in silence
It was as if she wanted to bring joyfulness and warmth
               back to all homes.

Black night empties with the hands of the gypsy mockingly
               and seemingly silently
And while the strange fire doesn’t want to turn twilight
               into a white day
Sad and tired, she wanted to express what her soul was dreaming
Early lost dreams in the late hours petrified silent
Eyes filled with tears stirred up with silver stars

GETTING TO KNOW THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE

Not everyone can count the stars in the sky.
To speak the language of birds
To sing about the life of the gypsy
About the green fields with Djurdjevdan flowers
Poems about the bones of unmarked graves
Distances travelled with the path of the sun

Oh man, the words of pain were born with me
Performed at Homer’s Theatre
The soul burns in flames for an unwritten legend
Life is too short for a revival.
Oh, my happiness, distance yourself after my mother’s death

You can’t find a more unhappy one in the white world
The depths won’t let you call him by name
To believe my verses
You should experience my life.

SOLITUDE

My solitude converses with the stone
A long road in a chilly gypsy wagon
The stone whispers the fairy tale of life

A child cries for a lost dream
My life goes by on the way home
The wind swirls and changes my direction.

I see the death of the night with my eyes
My day is lagging behind time.

MY SYMBOLS

When I was a kid
A sorcerer was telling my fortune in a crystal ball
One day I will become a Tzar.
Or maybe a stone slave

There were different dreams
The green eyes shocked me.
I lost my gypsy wagon in the field.
And my life a stone myth

My muse of green fields
Stop my eternal wanderings
The river has no abyss
In which my sufferings are born

CAULDRON OF WANDERING

In the paleness of your face
The Paths of My Ancestors
Told over the quiet fires
In the flames of your eyes

The stars of our quests
On the lips of the rose

Dried potatoes
For unborn children
Wild horses
And distant expanses

In the paleness of your face
Our daily bread

NO WORDS

My black eyes filled with tears
A star has fallen from the sky
The winds are fought by night dreams
Close by a whitebeard old man
It is like he is twisting in his shabby shirt
Before us wails a white dog
Stones are thrown at someone in the distance
Gypsy wagons and tents in the fields are rising
A fairy tale woven out of pain
The snake under the rock hardly tells of it
Geese, gaggling is heard faintly
You can’t cure a flared wounded heart
Break between night and day
Forget the unattainable and unreal dreams

THE NIGHT WEEPS

I’m looking for your shadow
Like a summer star
My lips dried up with flames
Unwanted songs bitterly woven
Between dreams and sleepless nights
The white shirts appeared
The goosebumping continues
Nearby, the love of youth
The night cries with my pictures
The forests sob to my fairy tales
What wheels among broken wagons
The great winged horses have trodden my tears
No one tells anyone anywhere
A soul like its song to a bird hides
From a distance, angry dogs bark
One life in its century grieves

MEETING

How do I get into your dreams
When my angry ones were stolen
The night fell apart on the roads
From a distance, the Gypsies smiled at me.
My dried-up soul is burning
A blazing fire flares up
I met a snake under a rock
My heart beats inside me, sleepless fear
The stars in the sky began to shine
The geese in the Gypsy settlement Mahala began banding
I cannot recognize myself
On my body willow bitter from the river
I cry for a place nearby.
I laugh at life in the distance.
Break my heart – sob my soulmate

Alijia Krasnići (1952, Crkvena Vodica) writes in the Gurbet Romani dialect. He has written over 80 literary works in various genres. He is the author of the first play written by a Yugoslav Rom in Romani language, Carra me, carra tu… (1974). He holds as a strong tenant that the only way to enrich the Romani language is to publish in it. He completed studies in law and became active in activism related to Romani culture and life. He ended his activism when he moved to Serbia after the Kosovo conflict. There, he dedicated himself to literature and Romani language. He even created and edited various anthologies of Romani literature.

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