Crows 
by Milutin Bojic. 

For a long time I watched the crows flying,
Black as youth falling into an abyss.
Far away the west flared at moments,
Under grey clouds hunted by the wind.
Without sound or aim the crows flew.
Black, all equal, they told the tragic story.
How terrifying it is to resemble the others.
Silence: mortals and eternity struggle.
The world around me falls into their net.
How terrifying it is to resemble the others!

A cry, bursting with passion, tore the night.
The voice of a crow. The flock rushed after him.
And he cried, conscious of his powers,
And led his black brothers to their goal.
Soundlessly the crows flew through the night.

I shivered. I felt at that moment
I resembled an unknown, chaste woman
Who, stepping on the path that leads to her downfall,
Shudders, while shame flushes her face.
That night my Will was born in me.

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