LOVE ON THE OLD STONE BRIDGE ( Poem by Tomislav Dimitrijevic Tomaco ) On a cold November day I was travelling to Sarajevo. She came to Visegrad, I did not pass the old stone bridge. She waved her hand. She wore a white scarf around her neck. Apollos arrows pierced me. I was no longer a free spirit. The stone bridge has defied the centuries. The cold water of the Drina flows and flows. The town of Visegrad is proud of her bridge. History has written many stories here. A new story is in the making. Can I alter fate? She smiles, as she walks toward the bridge. Should I continue to Sarajevo? Or remain in Visegrad? How hard it is to decide. I struggle within myself. My soul wins through, my heart beat accelerates. God, what should I do? I look at the old stone bridge. Im waiting for her answer. Her arches stand proud of the Drina. The stone is very stern but the spirit of the bridge says: Stay, you fool! You are writing the history of this bridge. It has been written by many. And now it is your turn. I am trapped here. The old stone bridge has taken me under her wing. I approached the gate of the bridge. I can see her white scarf. Its a little chilly. The wind is blowing down the Drina. Encouraged by the spirit of the old bridge, I wave my hand. She looked at me naturally. I feel that she, the old bridge, is saying something. Maybe she will find love on the bridge. And it perhaps with me. Maybe its a story from the past. But it is possible. If a person desires and likes, it only takes a moment. No more than a moment. We had agreed to meet on the bridge. Is this going to be a bridge of love? Oh my goodness, thank you to all those who built this bridge. Thanks to Mehmed Pasha Sokolovic for this gift, and to the builders, and martyrs. Thanks to the lives woven into the bridge. If I could hear Ivo Andric, he would give me advice. There are many bridges in the world, but only one like this. so celebrated, lamented and discussed with pride. I turned, looking ahead and behind. There was no-one on the bridge. Just me and her. The old stone bridge, now she is ours. This moment in history is our own. Enough to fall in love, with the Drina roaring beneath us. I grabbed her hand and kissed her for the first time. I did not go to Sarajevo. I stayed in Visegrad. On cold November days we walk on the old stone bridge. We always love again.
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 19:07:45 +0000
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