Bujrum - As The Way of Life

Ašikovanje was once the quietest song of the heart.
It didn’t take much—just a single glance across the courtyard
for a light to ignite in the chest, one that words themselves could not describe.

That shyness… that sweet, rosy shyness
that would arrive before both thought and breath.
It was a sign that something pure had gently been born in the soul, like blossom just before the first sabah.

Ašikovanje was walking along soft threads of desire and restraint.
One step closer, then two steps back— so the heart would not confess what the eyes had long been singing.
And that silent flutter, that trembling of the soul,
said more than any sentence ever could.

These were loves that breathed slowly,
as if afraid to spoil the magic with their own voice.
Loves born of whispers and raised in silence.
Innocent, tender, modest— afraid to grow too fast.

And sevdah… sevdah was their companion,
the quiet hum of the heart beneath the skin,
a music only two could hear— one that doesn’t hurt, but softens,
that doesn’t break, but melts the hardened parts of a person.

And what remains is a memory of those times:
of gates that marked the boundary of modesty,
of lanterns scenting the evening,
of a heart that leaps before lips dare say anything more than a soft: "Are you there…?”
And within those words lived an entire youth,
an entire longing, everything unspoken that burned in the chest.

And today… today, only sevdalinke remain
to remind us of ašik-sevdisanje,
of all those quiet loves born under moonlight,
of blushing cheeks, trembling hands,
of hearts that loved softly—but most strongly.

They sing in our place and guard what was once sacred:
innocent love, modesty, ašikovanje and sevdah—
everything the heart once spoke more softly than a whisper,
and more powerfully than words.

Nije to samo riječ.
To je način života.

Bujrum se ne govori naglas da bi se čulo -
nego da bi se osjetilo.

To je ona riječ kojom se otvaraju vrata i kad kuća nije spremna.
Kad kahva još nije skuhana, ali je srce već tu.
Kad nema mnogo, ali ima volje da se dijeli.

Bujrum znači:
uđi takav kakav jesi.
sjedni, odmori, ispričaj se.
ima mjesta.

U bosanskoj kulturi, bujrum je tiha velikodušnost.
Ne pita ko si, odakle dolaziš ni koliko ostaješ.
Bujrum te primi i kad si sretan -
ali još više kad si umoran.

To je riječ koju su naše nane izgovarale dok su rukom pokazivale na sećiju.
Riječ koja je mirisala na domaći hljeb, na supu koja se uvijek nekako proširi za još jednu kašiku.
Na dom koji nije bio savršen, ali je bio topao.

Bujrum je dokaz da se ljudskost ne mjeri bogatstvom,
nego otvorenošću.

I možda danas nemamo uvijek vremena,
ali kad kažemo bujrum -
barem na trenutak podsjetimo sebe
ko smo
i odakle dolazimo.

Jer bujrum nije poziv u kuću.
Bujrum je poziv u srce.