Sunday, October 1, 2017




In a pupil of yesteryears
A light reflects,
A silhouette,
A ray of hope.
With focused lenses,
Rests the future.
"Could it be?"
Questions linger.
But the whites of the eyes
Have no secrets.


What is a woman made of?
Of golden dreams.
Of diamond logic.
Of emerald shrewdness.
Of amethyst magic.

What is a woman made of?
Of yearnings to be held.
Of cravings to be protected.
Of hunger to be adored.
Of thirst to be defended.

What is a woman made of?
Of the unborn child in her blood.
Of unbreakable resilience.
Of forlorn sadness.
Of soft ingeniousness.

How to love a woman of that kind?
Care for her.
Be there for her.
Wholeheartedly embrace her.
But remember, you can never own her.


A shot.
A fall.
A soul of most fine glass has broken into pieces.
It is slumped, looks for an eternal pillow,
that I can't give.
that I don't want to give.
Too much is unsearched, things that need to be welcomed.
I need to pass the path that leads to myself
With bare feet I walk on broken glass,
step by step…
From bloody feet I am taking out pieces of glass
And make a mosaic window,
separating “that” from “this” and “then” from “now”
Then I look at the scenes behind the window and it doesn't hurt me.
With blood, I melted broken glass into a murano dreamer.


DENISA KONDIĆ lives and works in Belgrade in Serbia. She has 20 years of experience as an English translator. She has been associated with many translation projects (books, magazines, brochures and web material). A graduate from the University Novi Sad she published her first collection of poems in 3 languages (English, Gypsy and Serbian) in 2015. She is also widely published in collections with other authors - locally and internationally - and has participated in a number of international poetry festivals.

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