Jože Snoj: Dom otožje

 

 

 

                                                           težka od rose jutranje

                                                           lucerna

                                                           svinčene kaplje, svinčeve čebele

                                                           čez noč od včeraj

                                                           so razvodenele

                                                           in že je moker do pasu fantič

                                                           ki vanjo brede

 

                                                           od kod je prišel

                                                           in do kod da pride

                                                           ne ve se

                                                           ki se v njej poganja

                                                           skozi osuto sled

                                                           ki sebe briše

 

                                                           bo ubežal živ

                                                           in te nežive slike

                                                           neke (v prihodnosti morda) spominske

                                                           galerije

                                                           ali obvisel

                                                           kot perut fazanja

                                                           bo v to nikdar ujeto tihožitje

 

                                                           MRTVA NARAVA Z DEČKOM

                                                           (od Žalostne pa do Vesele gore)

 

 

***

 

 

                                                           MRTVA NARAVA Z DEČKOM

                                                           (od Žalostne pa do Vesele gore)

 

                                                           bo v to nikdar ujeto tihožitje

                                                           kot perut fazanja

                                                           obvisel?

                                                           bo ubežal živ

                                                           iz te nežive slike

                                                           neke (v prihodnosti morda) spominske

                                                           galerije?

 

                                                           od kod je prišel

                                                           in do kod da pride

                                                           ne ve se

                                                           ki se v njej poganja

                                                           skozi osuto sled

                                                           ki sebe briše

 

                                                           težka od rose jutranje

                                                           lucerna

                                                           svinčene kaplje, svinčeve čebele

                                                           čez noč od včeraj

                                                           so razvodenele

                                                           in že je moker do pasu fantič

                                                           ki vanjo brede

 

 

***

 

 

                                                           Dom, otožje

 

                                                           ko dan se zaznava, pojemo

                                                           tisto Zvonikarjevo

                                                           oče, sestri, mama

                                                           in nmau čez izaro in je

                                                           zatemnjena

                                                           Ljubljana

                                                           in je dragi dom z mojo zibelko

                                                           le postaja,

                                                           ena od postaj

                                                           in leteče trdnjave tresejo

                                                           okna in zidove

 

                                                           skupaj, pojemo, da le

                                                           skupaj

                                                           nas doleti življenje

                                                           ali se nam nasmehne

                                                           smrt

 

                                                           a Danica priplava

                                                           in pljusne v zvonove

                                                           in od tedaj nam

                                                           ušesa

                                                           zasipava

                                                           drobno stolčena bronasta prst -

                                                           drugemu za drugim, neprizanesljiva

 

                                                           in se joka

                                                           kdor še poje

 

 

***

 

 

                                               V ČRNEM ROGU

                                                           beli kamni, beli kamni govorijo,

                                                           kaj se tukaj je zgodilo.

 

                                                           Kdor greš mimo,

                                                           šepetati, šepetati zgodovino,

                                                           tukaj slišiš zgodovino.

 

                                                           Tu ležimo

                                                           pokopani, pokopani v domovino,

                                                           pokopani v domovino.

 

                                                           V črnem Rogu

                                                           tu gorimo, tu gorimo v črnem Rogu,

                                                           bele sveče v temnem Bogu.

 

 

 

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