Eclectic Nomad

I

Music

Lead Single

Televizor

A darkly comic prophecy about media manipulation. Written in the 1990s about television. Even more relevant now.

Political Satire Media

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Coming soon

Crveno nebo

Red sky over the steelworks. Longing for home and for her. The most geographically rooted piece.

City/Home Love Exile

Otac

A father who couldn't love properly. Not a poem about a bad man — written by someone who understands weakness from the inside.

Father Love Loss

Grad

This city has no children of its own. Contemporary sevdah — almost happy vibes masking deep grief.

City/Home Loss War

Buđenje

The awakening. After all the loss, the anger, the searching — acceptance. The poem that completes the arc.

Awakening Spiritual Identity

II

Poems

These words exist alongside the songs for those who don't speak the language they were written in. They are not what the songs say. They are what the songs mean.

Television Televizor

Every day my life begins

with the push of a button on the TV set —

this magic box full of happenings,

dreams I'll never have, and lives I'll never get.

I don't need to think, I just tune in,

give myself over to the star of my favorite show.

Why bother with my own pathetic life

when the screen makes everything glow?

The boring channels I skip with grace —

I've got the remote, I run this place.

Only sometimes a doubt crawls in, uninvited:

am I the viewer — or the one being guided?

Every day of mine comes to an end

with the push of a button on the TV set.

The screen goes dark, the fantasy is done —

just me, broken inside, with nothing left to get.

Awakening Buđenje

How foolish words become

how few, how small

when everything you need to say

won't fit inside them all

A mountain rises in my chest

pressing, opening me wide

a newborn river rushes through —

clear water wakes the fire inside

The wind sweeps old scents clear

through darkness, trembles a new light

new constellations start to glow

I hear another world tonight

Behind each circle stands a larger one

new questions, signs we've never known

the body ages step by step —

we end the road as young old men

City Grad

This city is no longer what it was

this city has no children of its own

mute shadows walk the sidewalks of despair

behind the walls of solitude, sighs dissolve in air

Father Otac

Old man, don't be afraid of dying —

I watched you leave

long before your body knew

Old man, do you know

what it takes to carry love

no one is willing to receive

Even though it was me I ako sam ja

It should have been me beside you

and it was me, thinking of you

on that day

but a thought is not a hand to hold

and nothing remained

of the dream

III

Fragments

There are places you leave and never stop leaving.

The songs are sung in a language that has four names depending on who you ask and which border you're standing behind. It doesn't matter. It is the language these poems were born in. It is the only language they know how to be true in.

And exile has no mother tongue anyway.

Loss, fury, tenderness, the long work of rebuilding a self from borrowed materials — these translate without words.

The poems are specific — a red sky over a steel town, a father who couldn't love properly, a city emptied of its children. But the voice that carries them belongs to no one in particular.

It belongs to everyone who has ever been far from home and unable to explain why that distance never closes.

These songs waited thirty years. You can give them four minutes.

IV

About

Eclectic Nomad is not a musician. It is not a band. It is what happens when poems written in wartime refuse to die — when words scribbled in notebooks during displacement find, decades later, the melodies they were always waiting for.

There is no face here. No origin story. No biography that flatters.

There is only the work — and the stubborn act of still making it.

V

Listen

Spotify → Apple Music → YouTube Music → Amazon Music →

Links will be active once Televizor is released.