I had the opportunity of working with another poet, someone talented and experienced. Vladimiro Rinaldi from Rome found my work (the internet is an amazing thing) and had the unique and special idea to translate each other's poetry! I loved the idea immediately and so we started this unique 'teamwork'! He has poems in several languages and a few in English as well, so I could translate one of these. 

Vladimiro translated my 'Inner Guide' in Italian and I translated Vladimiro's "Well Now" in Serbian and Dutch. It was a poem I resonated with, an anti-war poem, with its "Orwellian" theme of everything being backwards in this world...

This is Vladimiro's website: http://www.apoesidi.com/

Thank you Vladimiro, it was an honor to do this. 

Vladimiro's poem "Well now" and my Serbian and Dutch translation underneath. 

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WELL NOW by Vladimiro Rinaldi http://www.apoesidi.com/

What they call justice isn’t real justice
What they call peace isn’t real peace
What they call democracy is something quite different
And what they call love isn’t really love.

What it really is
is written in the gaze
of the children mutilated
by the mines, by the missiles, by the bombs,
by the lies of the news
to misinform is to misuse.

It is written in the rubble
in the distorted asphalt
in the skeletons that have no name
and in those that do have a name.

And the colour is no longer important
of the eyes nor the hair nor the skin
the rubble that buries the living
with their secret diaries in all languages
with their pets
with their plants in pots
with their better dreams and with the terror
of the roar of the bombers, of the missiles,
of the tanks, of the guns,
before the explosions and collapse.

Pieces of children here and there,
sides of innocent old people
split through the soul (where dreams
of a better humanity nest),
split first through the soul ..

Ah, the geopolitical –commercial strategies,
pre-established plans of imperialism and occupation,
the market of the latest technological arms
and that of the consciences!

What they call justice isn’t real justice
What they call peace isn’t real peace
What they call democracy is something quite different
And what they call love isn’t really love.

Well now

 
Tako je
Ono sta oni nazivaju pravdom, istinski nije pravda
Sta oni zovu mirom, ustvari nije pravi mir
Sta oni zovu demokratijom je nesto sasvim drugo
I sta oni zovu ljubav, zapravo nije ljubav.

Sta ono zapravo jeste,
je zapisano u pogledima
oskrnavljene dece,
od mina, raketa, bombi,
od laznih vesti
Dezinformacija je zloupotreba.

Zapisano je u djubristu
u izopacenom asfaltu
u skeletima bez imena
i u onima koji imaju ime.

Boja vise nije vazna
ociju, ni kose, ni koze
djubriste koje zakopava zive
sa njihovim tajnim dnevnicima, na svim jezicima
sa njihovim ljubimcima
sa biljkama u saksijama
sa njihovim boljim snovima i sa strahotom
odjeka bombi i raketa, tenkova i pistolja
pre ekplozija I srusenja.

Komadici dece, tu i tamo,
stranice neduznih staraca
podeljeni kroz dusu (gde snovi
o boljem covecanstvu gnezde)
prvo podeljeni kroz dusu..

Ah, geopoliticke-komercijalne strategije
prethodno odredjeni planovi imperijalizma I okupacija
trziste zadnjeg tehnoloskog oruzja
i to od savesti!

Ono sta oni nazivaju pravdom, istinski nije pravda
Sta oni zovu mirom, ustvari nije pravi mir
Sta oni zovu demokratijom je nesto sasvim drugo
I sta oni zovu ljubav, zapravo nije ljubav.

Tako je

 
Zo is het

Wat zij gerechtigheid noemen, is niet echt gerechtigheid
Wat zij vrede noemen, is niet echt vrede
Wat zij democratie noemen, is eigenlijk iets heel anders
En wat zij liefde noemen, is niet echt liefde.

Wat het echt is
staat geschreven in de oogopslag
van de verminkte kinderen
door de mijnen, de raketten, de bommen,
door de leugens van het nieuws
Misinformatie is misbruik.

Het staat geschreven in de vuilnis,
in het vervormde asfalt
in de skeletten zonder naam
en in diegenen die wel een naam hebben.

En de kleur is niet meer van belang
van de ogen, noch van het haar, noch van de huid
het afval dat de levenden begraaft
met hun geheime dagboeken in alle talen
met hun huisdieren
met hun planten in potten
met hun betere dromen en de verschrikking
van het gebrul van de bommenwerpers en de raketten,
de tanks en pistolen,
voor de explosies en instorting.

Hier en daar, stukken van kinderen
zijden van onschuldige ouderen,
gespleten door de ziel (waar dromen
over een beter mensheid nesten)
eerst gespleten door de ziel..

Ah, de geopolitieke-commerciele strategieen,
vooraf vastgestelde plannen van imperialisme en bezetting
de afzetmarkt van de laaste technologische wapens
en dat van het geweten!

Wat zij gerechtigheid noemen, is niet echt gerechtigheid
Wat zij vrede noemen, is niet echt vrede
Wat zij democtratie noemen, is eigenlijk iets heel anders
En wat zij liefde noemen, is niet echt liefde.

Zo is het

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