my name is ahmo.
i was born two kilometers from sarajevo
in eighty-seven
i had the smallest sneakers in the world and
my mother's name was selma and then she
died.
like a sea urchin, she deflated into the sand
in front of the house
she had no entrails.
since then i also wear pants and everyone
calls me ahmo,
ahmo you look like your father, ahmo you're a fine
young man,
ahmo what will the world say
around the house, around the yard, around the street,
around the mosque,
around the doghouse
ahmo have you ever kissed a boy
have you ever smoked pot
have you ever sat with your father at ramadan
emptied the room of air
counted days, counted hours,counted
minutes, counted
clouds
ahmo my son you're a real mother's bastard
my father calls me that,
rips the teeth from his jaw, throws them at me
gathers his fists back into his arms,
grows red like the sea,hisses like a snake
understands it allepically
sometimes lunches quietly and that's when he's at his
ugliest, because
he has no recourse but to be cross and
angry,
to break pictures of mother and sit on my
neck,as
i grow blind
our room slips under the nail and darkens
between the neighbour's houses
ahmogrows his father's tail between his legsand
makes himself into a man
the new millennium rocks our curtains
and each summer is warmer than the last and
the women are around the house, around the yard, around the street
around the mosque,
around the butcher shop
since then i also wear pants.
moje je ime ahmo.
rođen sam dva kilometra od sarajeva
osamdesetisedme godine
imao sam najmanje patike na svijetu a
mati mi se zvala selma i onda je
umrla.
kao morski jež, splasnula je u pijesak
ispred kuće
utrobe nije imala.
od tada i ja nosim pantalone i svako
me zove ahmo,
ahmo ličiš na oca, ahmo pravi si
momak,
ahmo šta će reći svijet
oko kuće, oko avlije, oko ulice,
oko džamije,
oko kućice za pse
ahmo jesi li ikada poljubio dječaka
jesi li ikada pušio travu
jesi li ikada za ramazan sjedio sa ocem
praznio sobu vazduhom
brojao dane, brojao sate, brojao
minute, brojao
oblake
sine ahmo pravo si majčino kopile,
otac me tako zove,
istrgne zube iz vilice, njima me gađa
skuplja pesnice natrag u ruke
crveni kao more, šišti kao zmija
sve epski razumije
ponekad mirno ruča i tada je
najružniji, jer
drugo mu nije ostalo sem biti ljut i
bijesan,
lomiti majčine slike i sjediti mi na
vratu, dok
slijepim
naša se soba zavlači ispod nokta i crni
među komšijskim kućama
ahmi raste očev rep među nogama i
pravi se u čovjeka
novi nam milenijum ljulja zavjese
i svako je ljeto toplije od prethodnog a
žene su oko kuće, oko avlije, oko ulice,
oko džamije,
oko mesnice
otad i ja nosim pantalone.
