Unwilling Warrior

This old head has lived through many a war
From the hills of the north to the south sea’s shore

And glory wreathed it everywhere
To the horn and sackbut’s warring blare

In a single battle I caught two wounds
But they healed my wounds with a flower’s juice

Until I lost my right hand in a final fight
And all my glory and praise vanished in bloody days

Glory like mist which rises into the skies
Glory like straw which blazes up and dies

To be given back my shilling is nothing new on earth
To be left alone on an empty road is poor reward

They whispered round me Nowt that’s what his life were worth
They do not know that wounded I still overheard

Nor do they know that I will deal my final blow
To this evil fate whose ways are known

To me alone

(Translated by Francis R. Jones
from  "The Stone Sleeper" - 
ISBN: 978-0-85646-397-6
by Mehmed Alija ‘Mak’ Dizdar (1917–1971)


Below, you 'll find a photoreport from our journey throughout Bosnia-Hercegovina


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