I met zlatica when I was young
on a visit to the old country
we held hands at the village dance
and walked evenings on the corzo
when I left
she gave me golden dice on a chain
and said osjećaj me - remember me
~~~~~
zlata is a mother now
a grandmother a survivor of war
between croats and serbs
I don\'t understand what the hell
they thought they were doing
to places where we went to talk and dream
and hold hands as we walked
across the corzo cobbles
~~~~~
zlata named her daughter mariana
srce moj (my heart)
grew up an imitation americanka
but in a landscape painted small
with dinars instead of dollars
she met dejan on the corzo before a dance
mariana couldn\'t help herself fell for a serb
and dejan chose wrong blood mariana a croat
there was hatred in the village for kids like that
betrayers of kin
consorts of the enemy
damn fool pacifists
he should have shaved her hair put her out on the street
she should have cut his throat in the middle of the night
~~~~~
I met zlata\'s daughter her dejan and their child
at a migrant place in dandenong
she told me it was better here
australians haven\'t learned to wear
the look that gets etched into faces
from living with war
she said she was a little lonely
no-one from home comes to visit
but they leave messages on the outside wall:
no place here for a croatian-serb
no place here for a serbian-croat
no place here for people like you
go away go away become invisible
she said they would leave in the morning
to go to a far away town
where no-one knows where they come from
who they are what they are
leave the war behind them
and find a place where their child will grow
without an accent
without a heritage
without knowing hate
~~~~~
when I last saw her
zlata\'s daughter was wearing golden dice on a necklace
struggling with a new language full of strange words
and keeping up a job through difficult early times
I picture her now in my minds eye
walking with dejan and their daughter
on a dusty australian corzo
in a small town she calls moje oslobođenje
my escape to freedom
~