By Haris Čolić

Oct 20, 2017 · 1 min read

Laughter echoing and I cramp into a clump.
aughter echoing and my breathing gives up.
Laughter echoing. Like a scream in a canyon.

Laughter echoing through the cracks.
Laughter echoing.
Laughter. Echo.


“A Bosnian poet writing in English?” they laughed.
“Where the **** is Bosnia anyway?”

Laughter echoing.

I picked up broken pieces of my dreams
And cut my paper hands.
They bled red ink into a poem.

Laughter echoing and I laugh back at it.
Laughter echoing and my blood dries on the paper.
Laughter echoing. Suddenly it’s all still.

No more laughter. Hundreds years after.
No more laughter.
My poems. Echoing through time.


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