Drina river Anthology

As you maybe already know, one of my favorite books of all times is "Spoon River Anthology" by Edgar Lee Masters. I really love it (if you didn't before, read it!) because its author pays great attention to all men and women who were "sleeping on the hill". It's the same thing that I try to do with all people who I meet, no matter who they are, who they were, who they'll be.
I read Spoon River Anthology almost three times and I never get bored of it. On the contrary, it was and remains to me a source of inspiration (I collected some pics and wrote a post about it), as Bosnia and Hercegovina is. So, I decided to put the two together, in order to express my love for both of them.
Even if pics where taken here and there I decided to refer to the Drina river as it's the one I like the most.

The Hill

Where are Josip, Nikola, Mehmed, Daniel and Carl,
The partizan, the brilliant mind, the writer, the artist, the lover boy?
All, all are sleeping on the hill.
One passed away at 88,
One was hit by a stroke,
One died in a fortress,
One was chocked to death,
One jumped into the river to save his broken heart -
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Marija, Jovanka, Fatima, Suvada and Selma,
the happy one, the king's wife, the religious one, the tender heart, the wandering mind

The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, the happy one?
One was buried in the rubbles,
One died forgotten by everyone,
One was shot by another God,
One at the hands of a brute,
One after life in a far-away exile,
Was brought back to her land by Zdenka and Aha and Brankica -
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Uncle Zlatko and Aunt Ester,
And old Boris and Asja,
And comrade Haris who had talked
With venerable men of the revolution? -
All, all are sleeping on the hill.

They brought them dead sons from the war,
And daughters whom life had crushed,
And their children fatherless, crying -
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where is Old Svjetlan
Who played with life all his ninety years,
Drinking rakija during the snowstorms,
Joking, arguing, thinking neither of wife nor kin,
Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven?
Lo! he babbles of the good old days,
Of the olympic games on mountain Trebević,
Of what Stoja said
One time in a land called Bosnia and Hercegovina.