Kada kraj ograde nesto izviri,
   gvirne i zvirne,
   zasvrbi mastu,
   pa deran ne moze da se smiri,
   pa baci pogled
   u tudju bastu
   pre nego otrci dalje niz put,
   to zuto nesto
   sto mami vesto -
   to vam je deco
   neven zut.

   Kada na odzak crvenog krova
   doleti nesto veliko, belo,
   pa dok lomata krilima smelo
   prizove male crne ptice
   koje zacas prhnu sa zice,
   zacas naprave piruetu
   kad se spuste u niskom letu
   do onog derana
   sto vecno raste -
   to su vam deco
   rode i laste.

   Kada taj deran se zaleti
   ulicom svojom iz sve snage,
   pa se usput u trku seti
   da mu je dosta
   jurke i zmurke,
   lopte i igre,
   pracke i maca,
   pa se zavrti poput cigre,
   okrene se k’o suncokret
   u pravcu bakinih kolaca -
   to vam je deco
   decji svet.

   A kad se sve to u srce sapne,
   neveni zuti neotkinuti,
   laste i rode,
   decije zgode,
   miris kolaca bakinoga
   i jos puno, puno toga,
   tu se scucuri i zazmiri,
   pa se tek ponekad zatalasa
   i nesto sapne
   u pola glasa,
   tiho i setno k’o violina -
   e, to je deco
   domovina.

   Dragana Konstantinovic
 

   When something peeps out by the fence,
   juts out and tickles
   imagination
   so that a boy must take a glance
   although his thoughts
   are so impatient
   because he wants to run and be bold—
   that something yellow
   that's caught our fellow—
   that's nothing else but
   a marigold.

   When something very big and white
   flies down to that chimney that clings
   and starts waving with its wings
   so that a flock of black birds get frightened
   and they all fly off the wire that's tightened,
   make a pirouette while doing so
   and fly down so very low
   until they reach that little boy
   whom for fun they continue to follow—
   these birds are surely
   a stork and swallows.

   When that boy starts to run down the lane
   and then stops because he gets stunned
   as he recalls
   that he's had enough
   of playful tags,
   of balls and slings,
   of games and gags,
   and he turns over on the street
   because among so many things
   now he wants to have a Grandma's treat—
   that's in one word—
   the kids' world.

   And when you put all that in your heart:
   a bold marigold,
   swallows so smart,
   a stork and games' beats,
   your Grandma's treats
   and many, many other things…
   When they all become so quiet inside
   and only sometimes come up in waves
   and tell you something
   as your heart raves
   like it has in a violin—
   that's, my dear friend,
   the homeland.

   Dragana Konstantinovic
   Translated by the author
.