Friday, February 1, 2019




You can be seduced by all goddesses in succession,
Hellenic, Roman, Slavic ones,
You can be conquered by Vesta,
All your thoughts can be tied in knots
By Ariadne,
Aiming to erase, to cancel me.
Your eyes can be
Blindfolded by Chronos,
Your hearing can be stunned by Circe,
But in the softest murmur of wind
You will hear my heart whispering
A prayer for your calm.

In a sharp shriek of a seagull
You will identify the scream of my soul
Into which you took a peep once.

In an unexpected cloud above you,
When you are filled with joy,
You will see my face full of tears
That, looking for you, hides its longing.

Escaping the most tremendous danger
You will feel the blessing
Obtained by the mutenes of my lips.

In your most secret part
You will know that I am here
And at times you will smile at me

In the deepest doubt in everything
You will meet my eyes which know
That, once broken,
Like us,
Never give themselves to anyone wholly.


I will sail down your blood stream
like a slim boat down the Danube
in order to fill you up, to raise you up
to the stars, to infinity,
so that you perceive the might
you present me with,
you lift me up and enlighten.

I know that it is Logos
radiating out of us,
it is the language
full of the light
transforming us
freeing us
of the immaterial.

It is the passion of spirit raising
repressed by the dark experience
denied by the cramp of time
and it floods with aura
our earthly bodies.
The blood sleepy from days of yore
begins to speak rejuvenated
on behalf of the everlasting longing
of existing
grateful to the words
for naming it.


My clairvoyant hands,
as hot as a sorcerer's hands
set in motion by thought
touch the chosen thing,
it is them that have encountered you.
Seeing better than the eyes
they impeccably guide me,
Logos always appeals to me.

I write down a word or two
and the rainbow gives a flash
fusing two violent waters
aware of the might of the said.
It shoots them through to the bottom
integrated by the force of origins.
Out of the overheated core
sterling flows over
with a deep trail.

I touch letters one by one,
they spread energy with ease.
Receiving it you light up –
you open all doors
to me – a woman.
And you do not know what breaks you:
either the touch of fire or the might of the said
that defeated you at once.
Or the secret of the being from afar
that flashes when fusing with you.



MILICA JEFTIMIJEVIĆ LILIĆ has published many collections of poems, a collection of shortv stories, and a book of essyas on literature. Her poems have been translated into many languages, among which into Russian, Italian, English, Arabian, Hungarian, Turkish, Bulgarian, Romany, Slovakian etc. She has won many literary awards both at home and abroad. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, a member of “Number seven” Association of Writers in Frankfurt. She is an expert adviser to Italian International Council for Diplomacy and Justice.

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