Wednesday, November 1, 2017




Black bird, black world.

everything goes out and dies,

everything stands still.

Nothing it doesn’t wait for,

everything has got stiff.

There is neither cold nor heat

everything that was alive it died

and what was dead, now lives.

Why do the birds fly

and where?

Why the clock ticks,

what does it want,

and where the time goes,

when everything stopped.

And the pain disappears

it turns into nothing.

There is no black hole

in the Soul,

which torments and hurts,

It doesn’t exist anymore.

Will there ever be light?

and when it comes,

for whom it will illuminate?


I have listened to their words which

saddened my already afflicted heart.

I listened to the cries of their lips

which they did not to anybody tell,

hidden and unspoken they stayed.

I listened to the cry

which the ears suffocates,

their words and exhausted hope

which their heart reached and transmutes

the sadness into the story

I watched their tears fall down

and their hands

wipeing them one by one.

I saw a shiver in their legs

which makes them fall

watching the persecution and the fear

of the young human beings

taken as the herd of  the Kurban rams.

They bent their heads

without voice and

their tears fell,

they died,

while the beautiful grass


Like the sheep,

the wolf grabed them

bite its teeth

into their throat

and I listened

as their sighs went in the sky.

I saw the life in their eyes

and a lot of sadness found.


The evil lives deeper than just in the head.

It must have left the roots in the heart,

it must have nested in it.

Slowly and safely

it grows into our stomac

so that it would come out from our mouth,

from the eyes it will spout,

from the ears it will hiss,

from the skin

and each pore it will scream.

The evil possesses

the man in the whole.

And at one moment,

A man is no longer a man,

Not even a devil anymore.

Only evil, unintelligent evil.

Stupid, vulgar, low thoughts

are not man-like from his birth,

we collect them from somewhere,

from one of the paths of our life.

I have no idea when and where

we have found it and carefully watch them.

Each of us on our way,

comes across that dirt and picks it up.

We are the recyclers of evil

which again and again

raises in us.

But always in the new shape

it bursts from our skin.


ELVIRA KUJOVIC was born in Novi Pazar –Serbia. She has studied English Language and Literature and Law. She is a mother of three children and lives in Germany. She started to write in 2013 and issued two books of poems. The first book was published in Berlin in 2016 and bears the name (Ein Gedicht schreit auf aus meiner Brust) The second book is published in Belgrade –Serbia and bears the name (Love and fear). Her poetry won an award for poetry in Italy. Her poems are translated in many world languages, especially English and Italian. Also, two new books will be published in these two languages.

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