Labud N. Lončar
Lighthouse of Fate
A seagull cries, and the morning,
caught between your breasts,
while the song of waves, imprisoned
between the lighthouse of fate,
whispers verses to the seashells.
The Mediterranean is silent between your thighs,
in the scent of salt and untangled dreams,
while the past night sobs
in an empty wine bottle,
forgotten on the shore of longing.
From the lighthouse of fate,
weary, like a broken flower,
a seagull and the dawn cry out.
Kisses—ancient, passionate,
tremble in silence on the shore,
lost in the foam of the Mediterranean,
like footprints in the sand,
erased by the sea,
carried away by the wind into infinity.
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