Hasan Haskovic

(30.12.1997 / Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina)

My Side of The Road


The road I had made myself
Was not towards heaven nor for times sad
But invented in times of conceived insanity
The crucifix of disappointment once I went mad
Brought to trial by the man who made it

In the darkness it had fire
And across the side it had light
Started by a better cause and desire
Started so I could learn how I could be the night
Be the one with no emotions in sight

Always constricted and forced
To walk on the edge of the misery
Never to look across to my self-made heaven
Not to fondle the grass on its periphery

Back then it seemed as if I could never make it
That I would fall into the hell on my left
But it seemed that the scorching flame made me fit
For victory of anguish and the never-ending theft
Of words left to say

Stuck in themes of war drums
And never ending crusades against a last stand
Consumed by the whimpers and the cries
Of those who lived in the burning land
I made for myself

In time
I etched my name into insanity
Something so sublime
And it responded in kind
Tore off my eyelids
So I would never be blind
And opened up my soul
So I could see the power of my mind

For so long I had walked beside the blaze
Before I was inducted into society
A huge, overworked maze
Which filled my remains with anxiety
Turning stone into flesh
And marked my forehead with eternal notoriety

In the aftermath
Not a legend, just a man
That carved his own path
Before he was taken away and overran
With problems of others

Like as if someone designed my name
To define only the depths of shame
Not to make any point
Nor to lash out to great fame

On the blazing side of my road
I take my claim
And beneath the long-dead stars
I continue to feel the same
I came back from home
From where I came

Long on, if you meet a turn-down figure
A tower cloaked in black crumbling to the earth
Ignore his preaching
And follow your road of birth
The one designated for you heart
Ignore his praises and his curses
Because long after these verses
I will wither and pass on to the dead
For no one can endure
Having a heart that pumps lead
Right through your veins

I will not be able to recognize right from wrong
So thread not after my footsteps
Rather mention me in a song

About the hell that I came from
About where I belong

Submitted: Monday, November 11, 2013

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