If I could talk to the old, sage winds

That roam the ancient skies of your land

I’d ask them to tell me stories of yore

Of the gods and the rulers and the holy men

Who built the shrines and wrote the books

That even now are hidden from sight

Of modern men, but only reside

In the humblest of souls, in the kindest of hearts.

And I’d ask the winds if they have seen around

A wanderer, a bard with a throatful of songs

Spreading the music throughout the land

Preaching the books, reviving the old

Tales of a love far greater than life

Erasing the distance, outliving the time,

A love between all kindred souls

Among them the wanderer’s, among them mine.

And the winds would say: We saw him today

Sowing his words in the dry, barren land

But sowing them still, and pouring out hope

Like a monsoon cloud pelting down rain.

And I’d smile and sigh and my heart would dance

And I’d close my eyes and I’d hear him sing

Of a love between souls even time can’t undone

Oh, if only I’d learn how to talk to the wind.


If I could rain myself


Like clouds do,


Like a summer storm

Or pelt like a

Monsoon season

Over cinnabar sand,

Would it be easier

To climb back up,

Featherlight and free

Of all that was glued

Unto my bones,

Or would I linger,

Unable to let go of

All that had hollowed

Me out,

Wondering if I am

All those things

That hollowed me

Or the empty space

They left behind

Or that which was

Hollowed out,

That dispersed into

The air

And wandered with

The winds

And made itself

A home

In the cracks and

Rifts and fissures of

A kindred heart,

Like a bird that


Another bird’s nest

After its


Fallen apart?


If I had

One more song to write

I would tell you:

Do not relinquish yourself

From my arms, my love,

We are not some teenage lovers

And this is but a timid autumn

Of crumbled amber leaves,

Our voyage is not ending,

We are as far away from

Finish line

As ships are from the edges of

The world,

We are still roaring

Deep inside the belly of the

Hushing, lullabying earth,

We may be muffled now

But we will, we will


We are warriors, fighters,

Dauntless flocks of birds

Soaring through the sky,

Knives cutting the palms of

Our souls

Making a blood oath

Never to cease, never to part,

Never to give in

To the sullen clouds advancing

But to slip into a slumber

Quietly and lightly as the

Snows that are to come

And to wait patiently for the


When we can pierce the earth

Like arrows,

And the rains and the sullen clouds,

Like those flocks of birds

Without a care in the world,

As if there is only one season

Inside a loving heart,

As if the autumn could



Have come.

Vlatka Planina is a writer with a master’s degree in English Language and Comparative Literature. She’s published three poetry books: A nekad si mi kupovao lizalice (You Used To Buy Me Lollipops), Nemoj se plašiti ovoga neba (Do Not Be Afraid of This Sky) and A Booklet of Poems for the Ace of Hearts, as well as a fairytale-fantasy young adult trilogy, the novels: Jegulja (The Eel), Kralj i bajka (The King and the Fairytale) and Povratak vještice (Return of the Witch). She is a member of the Croatian Association of Writers for Children and Youth. She lives and works in Zagreb, Croatia.

Photo: Maria Teresa Ambrosi