Split my home city: Welcome to an emotional excavation of the place where my story began. As a soul geologist, I often return to the ancient stones of my origin. Split my home city is not just a geographical location on the Adriatic coast; it is a profound layer of my identity. Growing up in a city that is over 1,700 years old teaches you that time is fluid and that history is alive. I remember the warmth of the sun on the Riva and the way the stone of Diocletian’s Palace feels under your palms. These elements are the foundation of my spirit. Split is a city that breathes through its narrow streets and wide-open sea.
O Splitu se ne govori tiho
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O Splitu se pjeva na sav glas jer on diše kamenom i morem.
U njemu su Dioklecijanova palača i koraci koji traju duže od carstava,
Riva koja pamti dlanove i poglede, Peristil gdje se vrijeme zaustavi,
Bačvice gdje se odrasta, Marjan koji bdije, i Grgur koji šuti, a zna.
U njemu su Dioklecijanova palača i koraci koji traju duže od carstava,
Riva koja pamti dlanove i poglede, Peristil gdje se vrijeme zaustavi,
Bačvice gdje se odrasta, Marjan koji bdije, i Grgur koji šuti, a zna.
To je grad u kojem sam rođena ja i zato je u meni dublje nego riječ „moj“.
On je u duši, ne u posjedu.
On je u duši, ne u posjedu.
Ne mogu reći: moj Split. Jer Split ne pripada meni — on pripada svakome tko ga voli dovoljno da ga pusti da bude slobodan.
On ne parle pas de Split à voix basse
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De Split, on chante à pleine voix car elle respire la pierre et la mer.
En elle se trouvent le Palais de Dioclétien et des pas qui durent plus longtemps que les empires,
la Riva qui se souvient des paumes et des regards, le Péristyle où le temps s’arrête,
Bačvice où l’on grandit, le Marjan qui veille, et Grégoire qui se tait, mais sait.
En elle se trouvent le Palais de Dioclétien et des pas qui durent plus longtemps que les empires,
la Riva qui se souvient des paumes et des regards, le Péristyle où le temps s’arrête,
Bačvice où l’on grandit, le Marjan qui veille, et Grégoire qui se tait, mais sait.
C’est la ville où je suis née et c’est pourquoi c’est plus profond que le mot « mien ».
Elle est dans l’âme, pas dans la possession.
Elle est dans l’âme, pas dans la possession.
Je ne peux pas dire : mon Split. Car Split ne m’appartient pas — elle appartient à quiconque l’aime assez pour la laisser être libre.
One Does Not Speak of Split Quietly
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About Split, one sings out loud because it breathes with stone and sea.
In it are Diocletian’s Palace and footsteps lasting longer than empires,
the Riva remembering palms and glances, the Peristyle where time stands still,
Bačvice where one grows up, Marjan watching over, and Gregory who is silent, but knows.
In it are Diocletian’s Palace and footsteps lasting longer than empires,
the Riva remembering palms and glances, the Peristyle where time stands still,
Bačvice where one grows up, Marjan watching over, and Gregory who is silent, but knows.
That is the city where I was born and that is why it is deeper than the word “mine”.
It is in the soul, not in possession.
It is in the soul, not in possession.
I cannot say: my Split. Because Split does not belong to me — it belongs to anyone who loves it enough to let it be free.