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| Nikola Šop, spomenik u Jajcu |
Isuse blagi, u doba kasnih sati,
kad još bdiju siromasi tvoji,
Skromnom krojaču odvest ću te, da ti
jedno obično odijelo skroji.
I obućaru malom, koji svu noć kuje
oštre čavle u teški potplat.
Dok tvornice cipela žučno bruje.
Milion pari skuju za jedan sat.
Zatim čovjeku, koji šešire pravi,
sa spuštenim obodom, da skriju bol.
Jedan će da se nakrivi i na tvojoj glavi.
Prostran da u se primi i tvoj oreol.
Onda ćemo poći u krčmu kraj grada,
koja liči na stari, nasukani brod.
Gdje braća za stolom, od silnog jada
bacaju čafe i šešire na pod.
Prvi krik pijetla bit će britka strijela,
od koje će ti srce da krvari.
Drugi krik pijetla bit će mrak u dnu čela.
Prepoznat nećeš ni ljude ni stvari.
A trećim krikom kad se pijetli jave,
o Isuse, zateturat ćeš od bola.
Tvoj šešir će pasti s glave.
Šešir i aureola.
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| Vodenice kod Jajca |
Where I would take Jesus
Sweet Jesus, in these late hours,
when your poor people still keep watch,
I will take you to an humble tailor,
for him to cut you out a simple suit.
And to the little shoemaker who all night long
keeps hammering sharp nails into the hard soles,
while the shoe-factories grimly hum
turning out a million pairs per hour.
After that to the man who makes the hats
with the lowered brim to hide the pain.
One of those you will cock on your head,
a broad one to hide your aureole.
Then we will go to an inn on the edge of town,
similar to an old stranded ship,
where your brothers about the table, when seized by grief,
hurl their glasses and hats to the floor.
The first cockcrow will be a sharpedged arrow
causing your heart to bleed.
From the second cockcrow your forehead will darken:
you will recognize neither the people nor the
things around you.
And by the third cockcrow,
O Jesus, you will stagger up from the pain.
Your hat will fall from your head.
Your hat and your aureole.
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