Zastavas and Rakija

In twilight’s hush, I sit and muse
Of Zastava’s grip, a sturdy fuse
A rifle born from lands of old
Where stories linger, brave and bold

The weight of metal, cold and true
A bond with history, proud and new
In catechumen days, I learned to see  
The strength in faith, the sanctity

With rakija poured, its warmth in hand
I tasted life, a foreign strand
A spirit bright, with flavors deep
Awakening memories I wished to keep

In the company of those I’d met
We gathered close, no hint of regret
Each toast a prayer, each laugh a song
In this new home, where I belonged

Zastava, symbol of struggle and might
Reflected the journey from dark to light
In every round, a lesson learned
Of courage, patience, the fire that burned

Rakija, with its golden glow
A bridge to cultures, a gentle flow
Through every sip, I found the grace
Of an Orthodox heart in a sacred space

So here I sit, where past meets now
With rifle and drink, I take a bow
For in this blend of the foreign and dear
I find my faith, my voice, my cheer

In the echoes of laughter, the weight of the day
Zastava and rakija, they guide my way
A testament woven through time and trust
In every moment, in faith I must