ja sam grad. I am sarajevo.

Napisao Nenad Pejić. Text by Nenad Pejić.

Zemljopis je moja sudbina, a moja čarolija je u tome da sam se smjestio tamo gdje su se zaustavili Istok i Zapad.

Možda sam zato pun povijesnih priča.

Kažu da sam počeo I svjetski rat,

jedini sam grad koji je bio opkoljen nakon II svjetskog rata,

palili su me i uništavali, padao sam i dizao se.

Zvali su me kasabom, kad su me oslobodili zvao sam se Walter,

onda su rekli da sam ‘tamni vilajet’.

Ali, ja sam svoj.

Ja sam grad koji je sačuvao Hagadu, u gimnaziji sam učio nobelovca,

iz mojih njedara su izrasli i dobitnici Oskara,

Zlatnog medvjeda, Zlatne palme, Felixa.

Bio sam evropski prvak u košarci, vice-prvak svijeta u šahu

i domaćin XIV Zimske Olimpijade.

Uvijek su me dijelili i još me dijele. Ali, ne mogu.

Moje su sve ovdašnje sinagoge, džamije, pravoslavne i katoličke crkve,

i svi njihovi zvukovi koji se prelamaju u meni.

Šta bih ja bio bez njih?

Ja sam svoj.

Moja je kotlina kao moja kolijevka u kojoj se šepuri Miljacka iako se njome ploviti ne može.

Šetam alejom platana na Ilidži, skijam se na Jahorini i Bjelašnici,

trgujem na Bašćaršiji, stolujem u Vijećnici i zabavljam na Skenderiji.

Nisam ja velik, ali u meni ima i brzine velegrada i sporosti čaršije.

Ja ne umijem da se hvalim, stalno nešto kudim.

Znam da svi imaju svoje Muje i Sulje i da ih kriju.

Ja svoje nedam, volim da se šalim na svoj, a ne na tuđi račun.

Ja sam grad.

Ja znam da moja prošlost nije sve ono što je bilo,

niti će moja budućnost biti sve ono što će doći.

Ja sam svoj.

Geography is my destiny —
and my magic lies in standing where East and West decided to rest.
Perhaps that’s why my veins run with stories of history.

They say I sparked the First World War,
the only city ever besieged after the Second.
They burned me, shattered me — yet I rose, again and again.

They once called me a kasaba,
when they freed me, I became Walter,
later they called me a dark vilayet.
But I remained — myself.

I am the city that guarded the Haggadah,
where a Nobel laureate once studied,
and from my heart came those who won Oscars,
Golden Bears, Golden Palms, and European hearts.

I was a European basketball champion,
a world chess runner-up,
and the proud host of the 14th Winter Olympic Games.

They have always tried to divide me — still do.
But they can’t.
All the synagogues, mosques, churches — Orthodox and Catholic — are mine.
Their sounds blend inside me; without them, what would I be?
I am my own.

My valley is my cradle —
where the Miljacka flows proudly, even if no ship can sail her.
I walk beneath the plane trees of Ilidža,
ski down Jahorina and Bjelašnica,
bargain at Baščaršija, preside in the City Hall,
and celebrate life in Skenderija.

I am not a great city in size,
but I hold the speed of a metropolis and the soul of a small town.
I don’t know how to boast — I always find something to complain about.

Everyone has their Mujos and Suljos — they just hide them.
I keep mine close.
I laugh at myself before I laugh at others.

I am a city that knows —
my past is not all that was,
and my future will not be all that comes.
I am Sarajevo.
I am my own.