by Leo Yankevich
He died like Socrates,
like Hermann Göring in his cell,
tall and white-bearded, knees
unshaking as scorn fell
from his mouth, hemlock downed
as if a shot of slivovitz,
eyes turned upwards, head crowned
by fallen Croats in pits.
In Mostar, church bells toll
and candles form a citadel.
Praljak played his role,
one few could play as well.
30 November 2017
