Sunday, September 1, 2019




Why my nose lengthens daily
Like Pinocchio?
No, only the airport on my head,
On which occasionally perch flies and mosquitoes,
Is becomming larger even than the head itself.
And I dream in vain
That my teeth only crack and rattle
But not that they are crumbling, getting crumbled and broken
At the smallest pieces softer than soft cheese.
And they say the time has stopped!
But where, how, for whom
When in this little Neverland of mine
I can neither drink water from all sources
Nor can I go along the all goat paths

Nor can I see every part of my own body!


Where are you heading, man,

At the crack of dawn – at five

When even the roosters don’t sing.

You walk drowsy from one room to another

As if stepping from one dream into another

As if you had 1000 years before you

But you’ve barely walked 50 or something

Well, you go to tie and untie the donkey

Walking distance from one hill to the next mountain

And talk long - longer than

The longest words and sentences

You have no time any more

To observe the movements of ants

Nor the flight of pesky flies

Because the first rush too much

While the others fly too low

The first can miss the road out of a hurry

And therefore lose yet so much time

To return to the beginning;

And others, being in an excessive hurry,

Will hit the glass of the fastest car

Or ran against a sweaty palm

Of another man more nervous than you are.

Therefore: be careful!

Go rushing as much as your legs allow you to

Over the next two and a half centuries

If not more;

And don’t start mowing any lawn

Where the grass is too high and dry

Or where there is too much:

Weeds, horsenettle, and thistle

But also where after the mowing

No one will notice your efforts

Nor be green with envy at your success?

Nor will like your strain

Nor will cover up your dishonesty!


It seems I have soft heart,

Softer than kaymak and young cheese.

No, it is stronger  when it has to

Keep going,

And pretend not to see it is crying on inside

My heart is stronger than softer dust

Strong as corn flour,

Howling at night, moaning and weeping at day,

But it is important that it does not cry before it is time.

Cry washes eyes,

And enhance sight.

It must be I am some terrible type and beast

Because I have only one heart for crying,

But it is also for surviving, (self)destruction and escape!


HRISTO PETRESKI, was born on 4th of February 1957. Year, in Krushevo (Republic of Macedonia). He works as professor in university of Skoplje. He is author of more than 50 books (poetry, prose, critics and essays). Winner of large number of republic’s and international prises. His works are translated on more than 20 languages. Founder and executive of Publishing house ‘’Phoenix’’  and Fondation ‘’Macedonia present’’. Leading chief editor of magazine ‘’Trend’’ and ‘’Literary academy’’. Member of Associated writers of Macedonia and honored member of Associated writers of Serbia.

No comments :

Post a Comment