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[AngraMaina]

Ulix

[sunflower5]

Originally posted by shishmish

skoro sam uzela da citam i nadjoh ovu na koju sam "otkidala"

Rabindranath Tagore
"Čeznem da ti kažem"


Čeznem da ti kažem najdublje reči
koje ti imam reći; ali se ne usuđujem,
strahujući da bi mi se mogla nasmejati.
Zato se smejem sam sebi i odajem
tajnu svoju šali.
Olako uzimam bol svoj,
strahujući da bi ti to mogla učiniti.
Čeznam da ti kazem najvernije reči
koje ti imam reći; ali se ne usuđujem,
strahujući da bi mogla posumnjati u njih.
Zato ih oblačim u neistinu,
i govorim suprotno onome sto mislim.
Ostavljam bol svoj da izgleda glup,
strahujući da bi ti to mogla učiniti.
Čeznem da upotrebim najdragocenije reči
sto imam za te; ali se ne usuđujem,
strahujući da mi se neće vratiti istom merom.
Zato dajem ružna imena i hvalim se svojom surovošću.
Zadajem ti bol, bojeći se
da nećeš nikada saznati šta je bol.
Čeznem da sedim mirno pored tebe;
ali se ne usuđujem; jer bi mi inače
srce iskočilo na usta.
Zato brbljam i ćaskam olako,
i zatrpavam svoje srce rečima.
Grubo uzimam svoj bol, strahujući
da bi ti to mogla učiniti.
Čeznem da te ostavim zauvek;
ali se ne usuđujem, strahujući da bi
mogla otkriti moj kukavičluk.
Zato ponosito dižem glavu
i dolazim veseo u tvoje društvo.
Neprekidne strele iz tvojih očiju
čine da je bol večito svež.

[sunflower5]

Slovo o ljubavi - Desanka Maksimović

Ako se volite ljubavlju
koja buja u samoći, od razdaljine,
koja je više od sna nego od svesti,
i po rastanku drhtćete od miline,
mognete li se još ikada sresti.
Vi koji se volite ljubavlju isposnika,
sa strahom od sagrešenja,
koji kao ptica o kavez lomite krila,
sećaćete se uvek jedno drugom lika.
I po rastanku
zamreti vam neće gušena htenja.
Ako zbog nje patiš od nesanice
i u ponoć hodaš budan
po bašti,
ako te lomi neutoljena želja luda,
sećanja na nju nikad se nećes spasti.
Onih s kojima se igramo
oko vatre,
a bojimo se da je dodirnemo,
s kojima idemo kraj ponora
nezagrljeni i nemi,
sećaćemo se dugo
ma i zavoleli zatim druge.
Ako je želis bezgranično,
a sediš kraj nje bez glasa
slušajući bajku koja se u vama rađa,
svanuću slično,
pamtićeš je i kad se zima
pred tobom zabelasa.
Ako veruješ sedeći uz nju
da je ljubav maslačkov puhor
koji svaki dodir može da strese,
ako voliš u njoj san i dete,
ako ti je bez nje pusto i gluho,
misao na nju budiće te
i kad se rastanete.
Zauvek se pamte oni
s kojima se grlili nismo,
čije su nam usne ostale nepoznate,
kojima smo samo s proleća, u snu,
pisali pismo.
Oni koji se kao reke ne mogu sliti,
među kojima nema spojnog suda
krvi i krvi vrele,
a srca im se dozivaju ludo,
zaboraviti se neće
ni kad im duše budu posedele.
Ako vam je ljubav nož u srcu,
a bojite se taj nož izvući,
kao da ćete tog časa umreti,
pamtiće te on, setiće te se
i umirući.
Oni zbog kojih srca
osećamo kao ranu,
ali ranu zbog koje se jedino živi,
u sećanje nam banu
i kad zavolimo druge -
i osetimo se nesrećni i krivi.

[garrel]

KRAJ
Pablo Neruda

Onda zbogom, nista neces zaboraviti?

U redu idi. Vise nema sta da se kaze.
Treba se rastati. Mozes otici.
Ali, pricekaj, vidi...
Pada kisa. Pricekaj jos, mozda ce prestati.

Obuci se dobro. Napolju je vrlo hladno, znas.
Trebalo je da uzmes ipak nesto toplije...
Ja sam Ti sve vratio? Nema nista Tvoje.
Uzela si svoja pisma? Svoje fotografije?

Hajde pogledaj me, posto se rastajemo sada.
Ali, molim Te - bez suza! To bi bilo glupo.
Treba uciniti napor, zar ne, da se desi cudo,
i da za trenutak postanemo oni od nekada.

Nasa dva zivota bila su jedan drugome
zauvek. A sada ih prisvajamo ponovo
i odlazimo svako na svoju stranu, svako
sa svojim imenom da ponovo zapocinjemo da
lutamo... O sigurno!

Bice nam tesko... Neko vreme.
A onda ce doci zaborav koji razresava sve tegobe...
I postojacu ja i postojaces ti,
bicemo medju mnogima dve osobe.

I tako, uskoro, postaces deo moje proslosti.
Srescemo se ponekad slucajno na ulicama.
Gledacu te, ne prilazeci ti, a ti ces prolaziti,
u nepoznatim haljinama.

A zatim se necemo vidjati dugo vremena,
a moji prijatelji ce te obavestavati o
meni, a ja cu pitati za tebe, koja si
bila moj zivot, lepota i vecnost moja:
Kako je njoj?

[AngraMaina]

Originally posted by olga_diktator

TUŽNA PESMA

Živela jedna gospođa Klara,
čudna i stara, vrlo stara...
I nije imala ni mamu, ni tetu,
nikoga, nikog svog na svetu.

Gospođa Klara je šest mačaka čuvala
na jastucima od žute svile.
Mašne im je krojila, mleko kuvala
pa su site i srećne bile -
belih mačaka šest.

A kad je umrla gospođa Klara,
čudna i stara, vrlo stara
- jastuke od žute svile niko nije prao,
na doručak niko nije zvao,
a loviti miševe niko nije znao!

Tužne su, tužne i gladne bile,
zaspale su na jastucima od žute svile
i nikada se,
ah, nikada se više nisu probudile -
belih mačaka šest.

Dušan Radović

Kako sam ja plakao uz ovu pesmu kad sam bio dete! Ali dok se ne zacenim!

[Galadriel]

Originally posted by stotinka_dogvila

Igra cenzora

Kada bi saznala da boluje od neizlečivosti
Moja devojka otišla bi u Egipat.
Fasciniraju je veliki nosevi.
Možda ne bi išla u Egipat
da je Kleopatrin nos bio kraći?
Pitam: kraći… za koliko?
Mogao je biti malčice kraći, zar ne?

Mene fascinira to njeno putovanje.
Iz više razloga, svakako.
Mogu je zamisliti kako na Sinajskom poluostrvu
ne navlači pižamu.
Dok spava.
Samo što na toj površini
od oko 1.001.450 kvadratnih kilometara
ne bi bilo mene

Bez sumnje, ona bi živela u dvorcu Karnak.
U Dolini kraljeva.
Uhodila bi pljačkaše grobnica.
Instalirala zakon protiv
dinastije tvrdokožaca
I jednu povlasticu
za sve vrste
preživara
mekušaca
I drugih beskičmenjaka.

Povlasticu balzamovanja.
Telo bi natopila rastvorima soli
(voli da previše soli)
Ona se razlikuje od mene
jer za mene
koža je najdublje što imam
So je u meni kao para, može da izađe zviždeći
(to je onda poezija)

pesnik?

[Galadriel]

[poem]

Ni bogova ni molitava...

Ni bogova ni molitava!
Pa ipak biva ponekad da čujem
Nešto kao molitven šapat u sebi.

To se moja stara i večno živa želja
Javlja odnekud iz dubina
I tihim glasom traži malo mesta
U nekom od beskrajnih vrtova rajskih,
Gde bih najposle našao ono
Što sam oduvek uzalud tražio ovde:
Širinu i prostranstvo, otvoren vidik,
Malo slobodna daha.


Ivo Andric



NOĆNE MISLI

Žao mi je vas, o jadne zvezde,
Koje divno tako jasno sjate,
Nevoljenome svetleći brodaru,
Bez nagrade od boga i ljudi,
Jer ne znate jadne, što je ljubav,
Niti ste za ljubav ikad znale!
Bez prekida vode večni sati
Nebesima povorke vam sjajne.
Kakve li ste prevalile pute,
Dok ja bejah u naručju drage,
Ne misleći na vas ni na ponoć!

Johan Volfgang Gete




UMETNIKOVA VECHERNJA PESMA


Ah, da tvorachka mocj duboka
u duhu mom zabruji!
Da tvorevina puna soka
iz shaka mi istruji!

Drhtecji samo promucam te,
ali ne mogu stati;
Prirodo, osecjam te, znam te,
moram ti oblik dati.

Setim li se godinama
duh se moj razotkriva,
pa sad, gde beshe pustosh sama,
u izvoru uzhiva,

chezhnja me, Prirodo, zhestoka
za tobom celom pleni!
Shiknucjesh poput vodoskoka
svim mlazevima meni.

Sve sile u mom duhu novom
vedrinom obasjacjesh
i skuchenom zhivotu ovom
bezmernu vechnost dacjesh.

Gete [/poem]

[Orlando the Lady]

'What do you make so fair and bright?'

'I make the cloak of Sorrow:
O lovely to see in all men's sight
Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
In all men's sight.'

'What do you build with sails for flight?'

'I build a boat for Sorrow:
O swift on the seas all day and night
Saileth the rover Sorrow,
All day and night.'

What do you weave with wool so white?'

'I weave the shoes of Sorrow:
Soundless shall be the footfall light
In all men's ears of Sorrow,
Sudden and light.'


W B Yeats

[bas bleu]

oatmeal

i eat oatmeal for breakfast.
i make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
i eat it alone.
i am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
its consistency is such that is better for your mental health
if somebody eats it with you.
that is why i often think up an imaginary companion to have
breakfast with.
possibly it is even worse to eat oatmeal with an imaginary
companion.
nevertheless, yesterday morning, i ate my oatmeal porridge,
as he called it with john keats.
keats said i was absolutely right to invite him:
due to its glutinous texture, gluey lumpishness, hint of slime,
and unsual willingness to disintigrate, oatmeal should
not be eaten alone.
he said that in his opinion, however, it is perfectly ok to eat
it with an imaginary companion, and that he himself had
enjoyed memorable porridges with edmund spenser and john
milton.
even if eating oatmeal with an imaginary companion is not as
wholesome as keats claims, still, you can learn something
from it.
yesterday morning, for instance, keats told me about writing the
"ode to a nightingale."
he had a heck of a time finishing it those were his words "oi 'ad
a 'eck of a toime," he said, more or less, speaking through
his porridge.
he wrote it quickly, on scraps of paper, which he then stuck in his
pocket,
but when he got home he couldn't figure out the order of the stanzas,
and he and a friend spread the papers on a table, and they
made some sense of them, but he isn't sure to this day if
they got it right.
an entire stanza may have slipped into the lining of his jacket
through a hole in his pocket.
he still wonders about the occasional sense of drift between stanzas,
and the way here and there a line will go into the
configuration of a moslem at prayer, then raise itself up
and peer about, and then lay \ itself down slightly off the mark,
causing the poem to move forward with a reckless, shining wobble.
he said someone told him that later in life wordsworth heard about
the scraps of paper on the table, and tried shuffling some
stanzas of his own, but only made matters worse.
i would not have known any of this but for my reluctance to eat oatmeal
alone.
when breakfast was over, john recited "to autumn."
he recited it slowly, with much feeling, and he articulated the words
lovingly, and his odd accent sounded sweet.
he didn't offer the story of writing "to autumn," i doubt if there
is much of one.
but he did say the sight of a just-harvested oat field go thim started
on it, and two of the lines, "for summer has o'er-brimmed their
clammy cells" and "thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours,"
came to him while eating oatmeal alone.
i can see him drawing a spoon through the stuff, gazing into the glimmering
furrows, muttering.
maybe there is no sublime; only the shining of the amnion's tatters.
for supper tonight i am going to have a baked potato left over from lunch.
i am aware that a leftover baked potato is damp, slippery, and simultaneaously
gummy and crumbly, and therefore i'm going to invite patrick kavanagh
to join me.

galway kinnell

[Orlando the Lady]

^ Kul! I ja bih pozvala ponekoga od nasih myself.

[bas bleu]

ducica?

[Orlando the Lady]

Vinvera obavezno, ama najobaveznije, a onda Kiša... ili koga mi preporuči.
Dučića bih pozvala u neki klabing, da magnetizira devojcice k meni!

[Orlando the Lady]

I sat within a valley green
I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove to choose between
The old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made
Me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glade
And shook the golden barley

Twas hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen
I'll seek at morning early
And join the bold United Men
While soft winds shake the barley"

While sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arms 'round her flinging
The foeman's shot burst on our ears
From out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain stream
And many's the summer blossom
I placed with branches soft and green
About her gore-stained bosom
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse
Then rushed o'er vale and valley
My vengeance on the foe to wreak
While soft winds shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse
I've taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon may follow
As 'round her grave I wander drear
Noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley

I evo je u Lisinoj interpretaciji...
''

[Mariška]

It is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.

My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.

My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.

My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.

My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.

My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women's army
I declare these streets, any streets
my vagina's country.

My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is
initiation
appreciation
excitation.

But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.
Mine.
Mine.

[sunflower5]

ŽELJA - Dragana Konstantinović

Želim da sam s tobom stopljena u ćutnji,
rasplamsalom dahu il' podnevnoj šetnji...
Probuđena želja talasa u slutnji
koja se kroz nemir iscrta u pretnji.

Šta ako je sve to samo igra čula,
samo treptaj rose, kratki ples leptira...?
Ako s prvim daškom vetrometnih frula
sve ovo u nama počne da se spira...

Zagledam u sebe, tražim tvoje oči,
i plaši me pogled s tim osmehom smelim.
Obojena slutnjom strahujem da kročim
i ne mogu ništa osim da te želim...

[Anhedonie]

Alone - Edgar Allen Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.



NIRVANA - Vladislav Petkovic-Dis

Noćas su me pohodili mrtvi.
Nova groblja i vekovi stari;
Prilazili k meni kao žrtvi,
Kao boji prolaznosti stvari.

Noćas su me pohodila mora,
Sva usahla, bez vala i pene,
Mrtav vetar duvao je s gora,
Trudio se svemir da pokrene.

Noćas me je pohodila sreća
Mrtvih duša, i san mrtve ruže,
Noćas bila sva mrtva proleća:
I mirisi mrtvi svuda kruže.

Noćas ljubav dolazila k meni,
Mrtva ljubav iz sviju vremena,
Zaljubljeni, smrću zagrljeni,
Pod poljupcem mrtvih uspomena.

I sve što je postojalo ikad,
Svoju senku sve što imađaše,
Sve što više javiti se nikad,
Nikad neće - k meni dohođaše.

Tu su bili umrli oblaci,
Mrtvo vreme s istorijom dana,
Tu su bili poginuli zraci:
Svu selenu pritisnu nirvana.

I nirvana imala je tada
Pogled koji nema ljudsko oko:
Bez oblika, bez sreće, bez jada,
Pogled mrtav i prazan duboko.

I taj pogled, k'o kam da je neki,
Padao je na mene i snove,
Na budućnost, na prostor daleki,
Na ideje, i sve misli nove.

Noćas su me pohodili mrtvi,
Nova groblja i vekovi stari;
Prilazili k meni kao žrtvi,
Kao boji prolaznosti stvari.

[Mariška]

THE PERFECT FRIEND - Shannen Wrass

Today I found a friend
who knew everything I felt.
She knew my weakness
and the problems I've been dealt.

She understood my wonders
and listened to my dreams,
She listened to how I felt about life and love
and knew what it all means.

Not once did she interrupt me
or tell me I was wrong
She understood what I was going through
and promised she'd stay long.

I reached out to this friend,
to show her that I care
to pull her close and let her know
how much I need her there.

I went to hold her hand
to pull her a bit nearer
and I realized this perfect friend I found
was nothing but a mirror.

[AngraMaina]

EL VIAJE DEFINITIVO



Y yo me iré. Y se quedarán los pájaros
cantando;
y se quedará mi huerto, con su verde árbol,
y con su pozo blanco.

Todas la tardes, el cielo será azul y plácido;
y tocarán, como esta tarde están tocando,
las campanas del campanario.

Se morirán aquellos que me amaron;
y el pueblo se hará nuevo cada año;
y en el rincón aquel de mi huerto florido y encalado,
mi espíritu errará, nostálgico…

Y yo me iré; y estaré solo, sin hogar, sin árbol
verde, sin pozo blanco,
sin cielo azul y plácido…
Y se quedarán los pájaros cantando.



--Juan Ramón Jiménez

[sofia]

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YFxgEp2 ... re=related[/youtube]

[Galadriel]

[poem]

Invictus



Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley
[/poem]

[Simor]

O Nemačka, bleda majko,
kako uprljana sediš medju narodima,
medju ukaljanima padaš u oči.

Najbedniji od tvojih sinova leži umlaćen.

Kad mu je glad bila velika,
drugi su tvoji sinovi digli ruku na njega.

To se raščulo.

U tvojoj kući urla laž,
a istina mora da ćuti. Je li tako?

Zašto te svuda hvale tlačitelji,
a potlačeni te okrivljuju?

Izrabljivani prstom ukazuju na tebe,
a izrabljivači hvale sistem
što je u tvojoj kući izmišljen.

A svi vide kako skrivaš skut svoje suknje,
krvav od krvi tvog najboljeg sina.

Kad slušaju govore što dopiru iz tvoje kuće
smeju se, ali ko te ugleda, maša se noža
kao da vidi haramiju.

O Nemačka, bleda majko,
ala su te udesili tvoji sinovi,
da među narodima sediš kao ruglo

ili kao užas.

[Galadriel]

[poem]

XXV

Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
[/poem]

[Guion Nerville]

O skoroj smrti,
Ni traga
U cvrčkovom cvrčanju.

Bašo

[Guion Nerville]

Molim se da umrem pod rascvetalom trešnjom,
U tom prolećnom mesecu njenih cvetova,
Kad je mesec pun.

Saigjo

[Guion Nerville]

Ni jedna jedina duša nikad da poseti moju kolibu
Izuzev prijateljskog meseca,
Koji viri kroz šumu.

Jednoga dana moraću
Da napustim ovaj svet, avaj!
Sa srcem zauvek punim žudnje
Za mesecom, za mesecom!

Saigjo

[Simor]

En Sekston
NJENOG RODA

Izađoh, mahnita veštica
što crni vazduh progoni, noću hrabrija
sanjajući zlo, jahala sam
nad skromnim kućama, okno kraj okna:
usamljena stvar sa dvanaest prstiju, umno poremećena.
Takva žena i nije sasvim žena.
Bila sam njenog roda.

Pronađoh tople pećine u šumama,
napunih ih šerpama, drvorezom, policama,
ormanima, svilom, bezbrojnim stvarima;
zgotovih večere za crve i vilenjake:
jadikovah dok sam rastureno ponovo pospremala.
Takva žena je neshvaćena.
Bila sam njenog roda.

Vozih se u tvojim dvokolicama, preživeli vozaču,
mahala sam golim rukama obližnjim selima,
učila poslednje svetle maršrute
gde mi tvoj plam još butinu grize
rebra se lome gde tvoji točkovi vrte.
Takva žena se ne stidi da mre.
Bila sam njenog roda.

http://polja.eunet.rs/polja461/461-23.pdf

[mrgud]

Ezra Pound - The Garret

Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
Come, my friend, and remember
that the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.

Dawn enters with little feet
like a gilded Pavlova
And I am near my desire.
Nor has life in it aught better
Than this hour of clear coolness
the hour of waking together.

[Speculum Columbae]

Write a New Note
Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare Thee to a summer day
Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
And summer's glease hath all to short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines
And often in his gold complexion dimm'd
And every fair from fair sometime declines
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade

When in eternal lines to time thou growest
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

[dharmox]

On:
Već bledi mesec. Ćuti Ravena.

Ona: Čuje se pesma slatkih sirena.

On: Lepo je telo i meko, žena.

Ona: Ja tražim da mi štuješ i duh,
Ja nisam samo biće od ploti.

On: Ženska mi duša ne biva kruh,
Najlepše žene - tek su Heloti!

Ona: Tako ne kaže moj Teteboti!

On: Dragana imaš?! Umri ko skoti!


(Vinaver)

[Ulix]

Život
(Miloš Crnjanski)

Sve to ne zavisi od mene.

Setim se kako beše lep,
nad vodama dubokim nekim,
kao Mesec beo,
sa lukom tankim i mekim,
jedan most.

I, vidiš, to uteši me.

Ne zavisi od mene.

Dosta je da tog dana,
zemlja oko mene zamiriše preorana,
ili da oblaci prolete,
malo niže,
pa da me to potrese.

Ne, ne od mene.

Dosta će biti ako, jedne zime,
iz vrta jednog zavejanog
istrči neko ozeblo, tuđe, dete
i zagrli me.