Tuesday, May 1, 2018




You are a black Moon that pulls me up
And I, enchanted, am climbing,
You are too present in the absence
We become one through your logos.
I am Lilith, always demanding.
You can come into me only through mind
You know that, and wait for my command.

The door of my innerself are high.
Only by a torch of words you can enter
Into the midst of the lucidity
That agitates my blood,
That embodies the river between us
To wash away our karma
Unseparated in the eternity of a poem,
To hide the midnight sun
That radiates intoxicating, but resisting.

As a black dove, I restlessly
Circle above you, suppress the pain,
Sweetly coo to call you
On the moonlight feast where I will dance
In white, like dervish, my vertiginous dance.
When you turn ready for all,
I will disappear.



Black angels were hovering
Above his cradle while he was dreaming
Of creating a figure
They were ominously alighting on his face.
Then here was dark night and day
The divinity of Mother's face fell down
And the first Scream was heard.

Once more the black angels were arriving
Waking him up, closing his eyes
Until his sister was gone with them.
And the dark kept spreading
Until the entire Soul became a Scream.
He grew up together with the hell
That blended with his being.

And Father kept watch on him
Almost as bodiless
As the black angels of childhood
Who stifled the screams
Until the muteness started to speak
In the picture named A Scream
Painted by a casual play
Of Destiny
Signed by Munch's hand.


My death depends on birds' songs
And I have neither home nor name
Now when I escaped a sniper,
A naighbour's knife,
The egged-on horde,
My death is irrelevant
More irrelevant than a vibration of a shadow
Under the Moon
That stands above us all,
For my name does not survive without yours
Neither my pulse is heard without yours
Nor my mind reasons without you,
Oh Kosovo, my bleeding wound.

If you are given up, the prayers
Of Apostles will die out before the Creator,
The all-seeing Tricherousa * will lose her sight
And Dechansky will get his sight back
To see the Evil.

If you are cut off,
We will not heal up like Damascene's arm
For there is no force to join that wound.
If you are given up, oh Kosovo,
We will never be ourselves again
Neither will all the Universe be the same.



MILICA JEFTIMIJEVIĆ LILIĆ was born at Lovac near Banjska, Kosovo & Metohija, on August 28, 1953. She graduated at the Faculty of Philosophy in Priština, and won a master's degree in philological sciences at the University of Belgrade. She was a professor at the University of  Priština, and editor on Belgrade TV. She has published the following collections of poems: Dark, Salvation (1955), The Hibernation (1998), The Travelogue of the Skin (2003), and a collection of stories The Subject-matter of the Case (2002). She has also published books of criticism: Poetics of the Premonition (2004), The Epistemological Illuminations (2007), Critical Roots and Ranges (2011), The Exactness of the Secret (2012)…Partenon buildings of stars, (poetry) ,Arka Smederevo , Stari Kolašin,Zbin Potok, 2015…She also writes stories for children which have been published in Children's Papers, Jedinstvo, and other newspapers. She is representedin many anthologies and has many literary awards of national importance  as international...Her poems  and pieces of criticism have been translated into Russian, English, Italian, German, French, Hungarian, Macedonian, Turkish, Swedish, Polish and Arabic....more than 25 languages of world. She was vice President of the Association of writers of Serbia, a member of literary society of writers of Kosovo and Metohija and a member of the Association of Journalists of Serbia. She Lives in Belgrade since 1999.

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