MIRJANA M. STAKIĆ

MIRJANA M. STAKIĆ

A DREAM OF WINTER

I don’t like winter,

snow smoothes everything,

evening out bare branches

in the whiteness

of geometric figures,

shadows

and straight lines.

I don’t like winter,

I like to dream about it.

Glittering drops,

reflections of moonlight,

scattered strand of pearls,

and a light flutter of the branches

while they are trying

to shed the snow

from their bodies,

thousands of white particles

swirling in the wind,

their dizzying dance

and a sharp smell of frost

in my hair.

A dream of winter

is a reflection of a longing,

invoking the warmth

of your fingers,

smoldering sparks

which dance on the skin.

FLOWER

Between the pages,

a captured Sun

yields under the weight

in the petals of a pressed

flower.

Faded purple,

the crimson mantle

of meadows bees

is just a withered skeleton

of a being once fragrant.

A wet trace of fingers

on the delicate stem

and a moment of love.

Trapped beauty

is a sad memento

of the hunger for the ever after.

CIRCUS IN THE SNOW

A circus arrived

to my town.

They drove pegs

into dry snow covered ground

to raise a tent

on the frozen turf.

Thin legs of the giraffe

are sinking into whiteness,

she looks around surprised

by the profusion of silver leaves.

Clowns are doing turnovers,

becoming balls

which roll on their own.

The bearded lady smokes a pipe

frost has caught smoke

into tiny icicles

on her moustaches.

A monkey is making snowballs

polishing them

with his saliva.

The girl in a thin red

dancer’s costume

with her nose glued to the frozen pane

looks longingly

into scattered trees.

She connected their tops

with a thin icy wire

and dances.

A flaming snowflake

in the sky.

CINDERELLA

She lost her glass slipper,

at the ball.

Semi-barefoot

she waits,

hopping on one leg.

Between the covers

of a thick old tome,

trapped,

the Prince remains.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

She woke up

in the castle,

without a prince,

while everybody slept.

She walked through the chambers,

king and queen on the throne,

the scribe at his desk,

fried chicken and wine on the table.

Hungry and thirsty

she dared not disturb the tale's harmony.

Parting the heavy brocade curtains

she let the Sun into the poem.

Thick thorns and brambles surround the castle,

roses don't blossom without a magical kiss.

Sad and weary,

fearful of the stillness and gloom

she went back to sleep

waiting for the evil spell to end.

MIRJANA M. STAKIĆ

MIRJANA M. STAKIĆ was born in Vladičin Han (Serbia) in 1973. She graduated from the University of Prištini Faculty of Philology and defended her PhD thesis in didactics and methodology at the Teachers' Training Faculty in Užice. She works as the docent for Serbian Language and Literature and Teaching Methods of Serbian Language and Literature at the Teachers' Training Faculty in Užice (University of Kragujevac).  She is engaged in literary and scientific work. She has published more than seventy papers in the field of literature and literary criticism and participated in over forty scientific conferences and meetings, both domestic and international. She writes poetry and prose and has won two valuable literary awards for her poetic efforts. She was a long-time member of the editorial board, as well as the editor-in-chief of the literary magazine Međaj. She is a member of the editorial board of the journal Učitelj and Proceedings of the Faculty of Teacher Education in Prizren – Leposavić. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, permanent member of the Maticasrpska and winner Prize for the contribution of LiteratureRosetta world literature –(21. 09. 2017. in Istanbul).