By Zlatko Pranjic

Dark hour
I can hear scratching of a mouse

It’s him I sense
In a murky corner of my house

She would never come so close

But how naïve is he
Another lost soul
Crossing my path to find its end
In a wardrobe hole

Poor little thing 
Trembles like gelatine
I can smell his fear

I understand his fear

The mouse knows
I have been alive for centuries
He feels it, little mouse
People on the street
Would never guess
But little mouse
Scratching my floor
In a murky corner of my house
He knows me, yes

Last time I saw his great, great… grandfather
In a bush on a hill overlooking Danube
Where Turkish military camp was raised on my land
Curious mouse he was
He wanted to encounter mighty Sultan Murat
The very second I cut his head off

That night
Dressed like one of them
I walked among Turks
I heard Sultan’s heavy breath
From far away
He was abusing a boy
Brought to him by janichars

Old pervert Murat

He did it to Radu, my younger brother
He tried to seduce me too
But I do not surrender

To the end
I will seek revenge

I know where he hides
In that white tent next to the stables
I could come in now and kill him
But the retreat would be impossible

So that’s the last time I saw a mouse
What they wrote in Saxon’s pamphlets
That during my imprisonment in Višegrad
In Hungary, I prayed on mousse and ate them
It’s just another frivolous lie about me

I, the Prince of the Land Beyond The Forest
Hereby declare that I have neither seen nor heard
A mouse
For 600 years

The one in my wardrobe I sniffed
What a great coincidence

Far away from home
Seized by an ocean
Locked in a wardrobe

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