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Quote by Dragan Lukić

“Novembar je mesec star, ali vrlo visok. Kad stavi šešir na glavu, onda dodiruje tavanicu neba i vetar nema gde da mu odigne šešir. Zato se vetar sa velike visine spusti na zemlju i ljutito počne svojim mnogobrojnim rukama da diže sa glave šešire i kape prolaznika. Kad vetar podigne uvis tri šešira i tri beretke i jedan kačket i dvadeset i tri žuta lista, onda se odljuti i počne da se igra. Tada vrati glavama tri šešira i tri beretke i jedan kačket, ali pošto dvadeset i tri žuta lista ne može da vrati granama, polako ih spusti na travu i tako tka jesenji žuti ćilim. Novembar je uvažen gost na zemlji i zato gazi po žutim tepisima išaranim poznim jesenjim ružama i georginama.”

Quote by Dragan Lukić

Book:Iz jednog džepa
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Iz jednog džepa

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Dragan Lukić

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“Od crne šeširčine novembra ne vidi se više plavo nebo. Sunce hoda negde iznad oboda. Dan nije više belac, dan je sada crnac. Vetrovi krojači svake noći izrade novembru novi šešir od tamnih oblaka, a novembar preko dana hoda po zemlji ispod ogromnog šešira koji ponekad liči na velikog crnog vuka koji se sklupčao na glavi novembra. A sunce koje se nalazi s one strane šešira često se nervira zato što ne vidi zemlju, pa malim zlatnim mecima izbuši šešir novembru. To traje samo desetak minuta, jer vetrovi krojači dotrče i krpe šešir. Ponekad se na vrhu crnoga šešira razvije velika borba između sunca i vetrova. Vetrovi krojači zakrpe tri rupe, a sunce napravi novu zlatnu rupu. Novembar stoji mirno, hrabro, kao sin Viljema Tela sa zlatnom jabukom na glavi. Sam, za svaki slučaj, u velike klempave uši stavlja po deset malih vunenih oblaka. Čuva sluh.”

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Book:Iz jednog džepa
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“Ništa ne miriše na život kao jesen. Bar meni. Nekako je realna. Ne laže da tek postaješ dok već godinama, pa i desetljećima, traješ. Proljeće već zna zavarati. Osjetiš da se tek budiš, kao što se budi sve oko tebe, i pomisliš da si na početku sebe. A nisi. I zima zna obmanuti. Kao, sve si namirila, zasluženo se smirila, i sad je tvoje samo da traješ prkoseći i najmanjem dahu topline koja te topi. Ljeto se lagahno (raz)odjene uzimajući sebi za pravo da mu se pripiše moranje otkrivanja svega što inače zovemo intimom, pa se insan polakomi za tom lahkoćom i podrazumijevanjem, kao da nije sebe – svoju vlastitu kožu – izložio vrelini da je prži. Kao… kao da kože ima unedogled. Kao da joj ne može ništa biti. Kao da je nepotrošni materijal. A nije. Jesen. Malo priča, malo šu(š)ti. Nešto rodi, nešto struhne. Samo što osmijehom Sunca umije obraze, eto ti suza iz oblaka „niodakle“. Život.”

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“If you live your life to please everyone else, you will continue to feel frustrated and powerless. This is because what others want may not be good for you. You are not being mean when you say NO to unreasonable demands or when you express your ideas, feelings, and opinions, even if they differ from those of others.”

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“The Angles Of The Frame 1 Many years have passed since the day, I looked into a mirror, saw a wrinkled face. I've been disclosed to the bulging sands of my bed. 2 Aeons of breath account for the many veins in my atrium. 3 The bull I breast-fed for many years And I've submerged into the frame. 4 I knew the justifications were hard, Hard as against the current of water. No news from the ambiguous points something uncommon. It can't be justified by natural rules, many years we've been tangled on it. 5 This usurped land is a part of all buried treasure islands No finger points in any direction. Lost in the dead-end alleys Tracing images without a compass. 6 Horse pounding pulse sing endlessly in my blood. My kinsmen of horses… Blood-line linked as to rays of a circle like roots of a tree growing deep on the roof. 7 You can't stop the hands of the clock. You can't come back to the broken minutes. The days have been arranged one after another. The knights have left the game one after another. 8 There was a straw mat where you fell asleep. I became numb, quite used to the stillness of the house. 9 Was something supposed to get away from the core to join us? A century has passed and we still live in this house. 10 Dimensions have shifted Not exclusive to the roof The letters approved us as the residents of the house They ran away as the convicts And we got used to the standstill. (Translated from original Persian into English by Rosa Jamali)”

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