Tuesday, January 1, 2019




Loneliness does not fade in the moonlight.
By that primal candle
fades only our unstable character
stooping over loneliness
wanting to portray it as a mystical moment
chosen and embraced voluntarily.

But the smell of iodine in the air warns.
The depth of breaths give us away
and we and this rich night in the distance
turn into cosmic pain
instead of the wax seal
which seals the important messages.

Pain thickens in the moonlight
Hands look for each other
as they are not twins
but strangers from another planet.
Not the smell of sea water
Nor the substantial iodine can help it there.

In the night of moonlight everything opens
and releases abstained traces
unfinished kisses
and easily broken dreams.
Not even the tide or ebb can do anything.
In the night of moonlight only love helps.


May be it does exist somewhere
Harmony, Sense and pure Feeling
but here where you dropped me, Lord,
to pluck  my days, I did not find them.

In this night of white peacocks and thoughts of jade
the wind tore the notes of my melody.
My soul grew tired and my heart clenched
listening to the old signs of recognition.

Your note screeched, dear, spent
like ozone in an industrial city, unnoticeably.
The tide which rises at the thought of you
That tremor which transports me into the other, mild wind,

all of it looks like dispersed fog this night
looks like belated spring in an overgrown garden
like dying colour of a blue violet in a forest clearing
or the bud of a cultivated rose in summer drought.

If you know the words of dodolas which bypassed our land?
if you know the mute code of dew frozen in its fall
look at me and pronounce that splendid thought about happiness
which is stuck by fear in your throat for a long time.
Or, maybe, you and me, we all, are a like.


This is the net of your dreams.
When your name rang in my ears
like April rain on the roofs of Paris
which flooded the time of my longing

when, in your night, shut in a cold
and half-imagined reality of a province
you trembled so much that my screen shook
and the milk of liquid crystal overflew

and soaked this hot Belgrade night
with yet another deceitful feeling of eternity
that is the moment this brittle unreal love
was born thanks to the new technologies.

You burst into my life with the heat of the ripe summer
as if you could save yourself only in its glow and you
immerged yourself in it completely like a fetus in a womb’s water
overtaking my bloodstream and the rhythm of my heart.

But this net is only a network of your dreams –
mine are spread over the nets which are primeval
and no technology could be rescued from being sunk by them.
Only an un awakened heart could catch them with ease.


DUSKA VRHOVAC, poet, journalist and translator, was born on March 24, in 1947 in Banja Luka,  Republic of Srpska, Bosnia and Herzegovina. She graduated comparative literature at Faculty of Philology, University of Belgrade, where has been living and working since. Currently  she works as a writer and freelance journalist. She has worked as a journalist for many years at the  Belgrade Television station (Radio Television of Serbia) and  with major national newspapers. With more than 20 published books of poetry, some of which have been translated, in part or in full, into more than 20 languages (English, Spanish, Italian, French, German, Russian, Arabic, Chinese, Dutch, Romanian, Polish, Turkish, Armenian, Albanian, Slovenian, Greek, Hungarian, Bulgarian, Azerbaijani), she is among the most significant contemporary authors of Serbia and beyond. Present in newspapers, literature journals  and anthologies of absolute value, she has participated in many gatherings, festivals and literary events  in Serbia and abroad. She has received important awards and recognitions for poetry, including: Majska nagrada za poeziju -May prize for poetry- 1966, Yugoslavia; Pesničko uspenije -Ascension of Poetry- 2007, Serbia; Premio Gensini -Gensini Prize- Poetry Section, 2011, Italy; Naji Naaman's international literary prize for complete works - 2015, Lebanon, Beirut; Plaque and medal with the figure of Sima Matavulj, founder and first president of the Serbian Writers' Association - 2016, for the overall contribution to the literature; and the gold medal for the “generosity, dedication, perseverance and creative contributions that are made to spread the culture of the nationalities“, assigned by the Institution for Culture and Education of the Republic of Serbia. Duška Vrhovac is a member, among others, of the Association of Serbian writers (Vice President of the Board for International Relations), Association of Literary Translators of Serbia, of the International Federation of Journalists, and she is Ambassador to Serbia by Poets of the World (Movimiento Poetas del Mundo) and the current Vice President for Europe.

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