ENGLISH AND SWEDEN VERSION
MOTHER — QUEEN OF HER OWN DRAMA
This is not a fairy tale — this is reality
A poem from the blog “Nevenčica”
WHERE TRUTH IS HIDDEN, IT IS WORTH SEEKING
To reunite what was never meant to be broken.
“Truth in Verse: A Mother, Two Sons, and One Father”
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTORY WORD
This is not a fairy tale.
This is reality,
where love, pain, and struggle
wrote the verses
before I ever put them on paper.
– Nelly Poerich
Dad came with a decision:
they would go to the countryside.
Little Luka was frail;
it would be healthier for them all.
And Matija would feel better too,
his little eyes would shine,
and every single day
the hen would lay fresh eggs.
But Belgrade was better,
their mother resisted.
From Berane she had longed
to become a lady.
She did not want
to give birth in Belgrade,
so no one would suspect
where her cunning might lead.
Whatever Dad would buy,
she looked upon with scorn:
“Pih, pih, pih, pih...”
and so the next drama was born.
For Luka’s birth
he bought her a car.
She only shook her head:
“Pih... you could have bought a better one.”
Dad Vlada worked so hard,
worked just like an ant,
and even made his way to Denmark,
handsome, upright and proud.
But there they greeted him coldly,
her relatives there,
with a few words besides.
They whispered, glanced at one another,
as though they had seen a ghost.
They served him
“silence and goodbye”
upon an empty plate.
With only a nod he took his leave,
in their familiar way.
He never dreamed, back then,
who was weaving what scheme,
that his wife and her mother
were quietly planning in secret.
He had a promising road
before him in his career,
but Daca turned him away
and clouded all his colors.
“We’ll go only for a while,
I don’t mean forever.
It will be good for them, and for us too,
this lovely summer weather.”
Matija agreed with his father,
and Luka clapped his hands.
Mother only shook her head —
persuading her was hard.
And the mother-in-law protested too,
boldly, with reproach:
“I did not raise my daughter
to become a servant in the countryside!”
Grandmother liked to rule,
she had taken after her mother,
and Daca, every now and then,
would raise another storm.
With pleading and persuasion,
Dad convinced her in the end.
Reluctantly, she endured
barely one whole summer.
Every day she stayed in touch,
speaking with her mother.
Together they planned the abduction.
Dad truly wept.
Like two little fir trees,
she tore them both away.
The newspapers wrote about it,
and the struggle echoed on.
Dad Vlada kept coming
to bring them back home,
but she would not let them go.
He appealed to the authorities.
This was no small matter.
The police listened
to the grieving father Vlada
and directed him to court
to seek justice there.
In his despair,
broken by pain,
he searched for another way,
convinced it might be better.
He went straight
to the newspaper office
and told the truth
about the road he had been forced to walk.
The newspapers flared,
the headline rang aloud:
“MOTHER TOOK HER SONS”
And Dan i Noć
gave those words a voice.
In the end, he had to accept it,
but his ulcer did not.
Inside his stomach — a waterfall,
inside his heart — a whirlpool of emotion.
He cried like rain.
He struggled with his health for a long time,
and then he surrendered —
what else could he do?
He kept the newspapers
as proof of everything,
hoping that one day, when they grew up,
his sons would remember him.
And so three years passed...
Until she needed him again
and began to call.
She needed his permission
for the journey.
Sweetly, she came
to Belgrade with the children.
They suspected nothing
as their father welcomed them in.
He greeted them with a smile,
with lunch waiting on the table.
He signed the permission —
and was left behind in pain.
Mother — Queen
of her own drama —
tore them away once again,
took them off to Sweden,
for she wanted the world.
She registered the children,
everything according to procedure.
Sweden protects children’s rights,
while a grey cloud keeps silent.
She married another man
to give them something better,
yet through lies she alienated them,
against their own will.
The stepfather was a good man,
but strict,
with a soldier’s manner,
bitter about his own youth,
hot-headed by nature.
Repentance may one day
come to anyone —
but through how many traumas
must those two boys pass?
Matija is now of age.
Dad sent him the article,
hoping that he might see him.
He had grown older, more mature.
But Daca remained stubborn,
a possessive mother,
and at the mere mention of Dad Vlada,
another drama would begin.
Perhaps one day
those two boys will understand
that everything written here
is the whole truth.
That their father wishes them well,
that he loves them deeply,
and that for their happiness
he prays to dear God.
And dear God gave him
another little boy,
a child whom circumstances
had left without his mother.
Little Nik adores him.
He squeals and cries out
even when Dad is rushing off to work,
and welcomes him with a smile
while racing his little toy train.
But the image in his father’s eyes
never fades.
Two boys before his eyes
still hover there today.
Though they may believe
their father loves them less,
this poem stands
as testimony —
woven out of pain.
Author: Nelly Poerich
Poet: Nevenka Jovanović
Copyright protected — SOKOJ / CISAC
SWEDISH VERSION
MAMMA — DROTTNING I SITT EGET DRAMA
Det här är ingen saga — det här är verklighet
En dikt från bloggen “Nevenčica”
DÄR SANNINGEN GÖMMER SIG ÄR DEN VÄRD ATT SÖKA
Att förena det som aldrig borde ha skilts åt.
“Sanningen i vers: En mamma, två söner och en pappa”
FÖRFATTARENS INLEDANDE ORD
Det här är ingen saga.
Det här är verklighet,
där kärlek, smärta och kamp
skrev verserna
innan jag själv satte dem på papper.
– Nelly Poerich
Pappa kom med ett beslut:
de skulle flytta ut på landet.
Lille Luka var svag,
det skulle bli hälsosammare för alla.
Och Matija skulle må bättre,
hans små ögon skulle lysa,
och varje dag
skulle hönan ge färska ägg.
Men Belgrad var ändå bättre,
mamma gjorde motstånd.
Från Berane hade hon längtat
efter att bli en fin dam.
Hon ville inte
föda barnen i Belgrad,
så att ingen skulle ana
vart hennes list kunde leda.
Allt som pappa köpte
såg hon ner på:
“Fy, fy, fy, fy...”
och så började nästa drama.
När Luka föddes
köpte han henne en bil.
Hon skakade bara på huvudet:
“Fy... du kunde ha köpt en bättre.”
Pappa Vlada kämpade hårt,
arbetade som en myra,
och tog sig till och med till Danmark,
stilig och rakryggad.
Men där möttes han kallt
av hennes släktingar.
De viskade, såg på varandra,
som om de hade sett ett spöke.
De serverade honom
“tystnad och farväl”
på en tom tallrik.
Med en nick tog han avsked,
på deras sätt.
Han anade då inte
vem som smidde vilka planer,
att hans fru och hennes mor
i hemlighet vävde en plan.
Han hade en god väg
framför sig i sin karriär,
men Daca fick honom att vända om
och grumlade hans färger.
“Vi åker bara ett tag,
jag menar inte för alltid.
Det blir bra för dem och för oss,
den här vackra sommaren.”
Matija höll med pappa,
och Luka klappade händerna.
Mamma skakade på huvudet —
det var svårt att övertala henne.
Och svärmodern protesterade också,
frimodigt och förebrående:
“Jag födde inte min dotter
för att hon skulle slita som en piga på landet!”
Mormor tyckte om att härska,
hon hade tagit efter sin egen mor,
och Daca brukade också
stundom blåsa upp till storm.
Med mycket övertalning
lyckades pappa till slut.
Motvilligt stod hon ut
knappt hela sommaren.
Varje dag höll hon kontakt
med sin mor.
Tillsammans planerade de bortförandet.
Pappa grät på riktigt.
Som två små granar
slet hon dem båda ifrån honom.
Tidningarna skrev om det,
och kampen ekade vida.
Pappa Vlada kom
för att hämta hem dem,
men hon vägrade släppa dem.
Han vände sig till myndigheterna.
Det var ingen liten sak.
Polisen lyssnade
på den sorgsne pappa Vlada
och hänvisade honom till domstol
för att söka rättvisa.
I sin förtvivlan,
krossad av smärta,
sökte han en annan lösning,
övertygad om att den kanske var bättre.
Han gick raka vägen
till tidningsredaktionen
och berättade sanningen
om den svåra väg han tvingats gå.
Tidningarna tog eld,
rubriken ekade:
“MAMMA TOG SINA SÖNER”
Och Dan i Noć
lät orden ljuda.
Till slut tvingades han acceptera,
men magsåret gjorde det inte.
I magen — ett vattenfall,
i själen — en virvel av känslor.
Han grät som regn,
kämpade länge med sin hälsa,
och till sist gav han upp —
vad kunde han annars göra?
Han sparade tidningarna
som bevis på allt,
i hopp om att sönerna en dag,
när de vuxit upp,
skulle minnas honom.
Och så gick tre år...
Tills hon behövde honom igen
och började ringa.
Hon behövde hans tillstånd
för resan.
Vänligt kom hon
till Belgrad med barnen.
De anade ingenting
när pappa tog emot dem.
Han mötte dem med ett leende,
med maten framdukad på bordet.
Han skrev under tillståndet —
och blev kvarlämnad i sin smärta.
Mamma — drottning
i sitt eget drama —
slet dem ifrån honom igen,
tog dem till Sverige,
för hon ville ha världen.
Hon registrerade barnen,
allt enligt proceduren.
Sverige skyddar barns rättigheter,
medan ett grått moln tiger.
Hon gifte sig med en man
för att ge dem något bättre,
men genom lögner fjärmade hon dem
mot deras egen vilja.
Styvpappan var en god man,
men sträng,
med militär hållning,
förbittrad över sin egen ungdom
och med ett hett temperament.
Ånger kan en dag
komma till vem som helst —
men genom hur många trauman
måste dessa två pojkar gå?
Matija är nu myndig.
Pappa skickade artikeln till honom,
i hopp om att få se honom.
Han hade vuxit,
blivit mognare.
Men Daca förblev envis,
en possessiv mamma,
och bara pappa Vladas namn nämndes
bröt ett nytt drama ut.
Kanske kommer en dag
dessa två pojkar att förstå
att allt som berättas här
är hela sanningen.
Att deras far vill dem väl,
att han älskar dem djupt,
och att han för deras lycka
ber till Gud.
Och Gud gav honom
ännu en liten pojke,
ett barn som omständigheterna
hade lämnat utan sin mamma.
Lille Nik avgudar honom.
Han skriker och tjuter
även när pappa skyndar iväg till jobbet,
och möter honom med ett leende
medan han kör omkring med sitt lilla leksakståg.
Men bilden i pappans ögon
bleknar aldrig.
Två pojkar framför hans ögon
svävar där än i dag.
Även om de kanske tror
att deras far älskar dem mindre,
är denna dikt
ett vittnesbörd —
vävt av smärta.
Författare: Nelly Poerich
Poet: Nevenka Jovanović
Upphovsrättsskyddad — SOKOJ / CISAC
muzika skraćeni tekst
A Father’s Fight for His Children
Lyrics by Nelly Poerich
[Verse 1]
Father came home with a simple plan:
“Let’s leave the city for a little while.
Little Luka needs the country air,
and Matija’s eyes will shine.”
Fresh eggs in the morning,
summer beneath the sun,
he dreamed of peace and family,
believing they were one.
But Belgrade was calling her,
she dreamed of something more,
from Berane toward the city lights,
another life beyond the door.
Whatever he gave was never enough,
whatever he did seemed too small,
while somewhere behind the silence
another plan was taking form.
[Pre-Chorus]
He did not know what waited,
he did not see the sign,
while mother spoke with her own mother
and quietly drew the line.
[Chorus]
Mother — queen in her own drama,
with two little boys beside her.
A father left behind in sorrow,
with nowhere left to hide.
This is not a fairy tale,
this is truth that learned to cry.
A father fighting for his children
while the years kept passing by.
[Verse 2]
First she abducted them from their father,
then she took them far away.
Like two young trees torn from the ground,
she pulled them from his world.
The newspapers wrote about it:
“Mother Abducted Her Sons”,
and that headline remained
as a witness to it all.
Vlada went from door to door,
to the police, the court, the press,
trying only to be heard,
trying to find justice.
He cried until his body
carried sorrow like a stone,
kept the papers as a witness
for the day they would be grown.
Three long years went slowly by,
then suddenly she came,
asking for his signature,
speaking softly once again.
[Verse 3]
She brought the boys to Belgrade,
he welcomed them with a smile,
with lunch waiting on the table
and the doors of home wide open.
He signed the travel permission,
never knowing it would mean
another painful separation,
and then she took them off to Sweden.
[Chorus]
Mother — queen in her own drama,
another border, another road.
A father watching from the distance,
carrying the same old pain.
This is not a fairy tale,
this is truth that learned to cry.
A father fighting for his children
while the years kept passing by.
[Bridge]
Matija grew into a young man,
Luka grew beyond his sight.
Their father kept their childhood
like two stars inside the night.
He sent the old newspaper article,
hoping one day they would know:
“I never gave up on you.
I never stopped loving you.”
And God gave him little Nik,
a small hand holding tight,
racing with his little toy train
and waiting for Dad to come home.
Nik smiles when he sees him,
cries when Dad must leave,
but the two older boys still live
in the memories he keeps.
[Final Chorus]
Mother — queen in her own drama,
but truth still has its road.
Years may hide a thousand traces,
yet truth can find them all again.
For Matija and for Luka,
for little Nik beside him,
this song remains a testimony —
woven out of pain and truth.
[Outro]
Where truth is hidden,
it is worth searching.
What should never have been broken
may one day
be joined again.
The path of truth.
A father’s fight for his children.
A testimony time cannot erase.
© Nelly Poerich
