Monday, March 1, 2021





A Pseudony Of Silence


All the memories I carry within me for years hurt me

I do not cure sorrow with tears, but with al-kohl fierce

I have been living alone for years; I got used to the changes

And I'm still waiting for something to happen that will change my destiny


I’m waiting and I hope I don’t grow old so abruptly

Because I couldn’t live through everything I had for years;

Broken heart only, because my life is just a missed figure

In which I try to start with my crazy fantasies

That everything is surrounded by love in the world of Transience

Where I die of wanting to have someone by my side

Even if it cost me a life of precious and new fall

Because my memories often become just dust around the corner from the room

Which no one has ever been able to purify for years!


And the gloomy love I often gave to others lightly hurts

Thinking it was the right thing to do; humiliate yourself for a handful of happiness

Although I felt insecure about it

I continued to mourn with my musical desires

Gypsy nomads playing especially for my ears

Thin notes innumerable mixed with wrinkles

Grief untreated by ignoring others around you!


Although it often happens that others do not understand the words

If only I wanted love, not loneliness most holy!

Which is waiting for the wrong step, so that it charges me sins

Stranded on the shores of the lonely path of Life

Where I always choose the wrong end, for a new beginning



I’ve learned that people end up always wanting to take advantage of you

Just to get what they want to hear

And they go to the first problem without saying a word

Suspended screens

Dumplings in the throat that take your breath away

The anxiety I feel inside, even though sometimes I’m not guilty

It hurts a story I’ve been building for years in vain

That someone has another


And when I see her, my feelings have not healed yet

Sometimes years cannot heal the source of life

Which used to be everything

And now only a bitter memory!



Transition Of Realisticity


Predestined Transience which unfortunately no longer makes sense

People hurt each other so lightly because of conflicts of interest

I guess that is normal today in this transition of the epoch of life

Where they hastily do many things to prove their existence

While we remain frozen views and realities dry

Raised glasses in height and fulfillment of desires

Every thirty-first of the year!


Nobody wants to look us in the eye and express their feelings

That is why we are with ourselves today, the greatest warriors of decay

Where we hit each other in the head with a hammer because of the decisions of the mighty

Whatever they are, they are really just ours

And no one else, and yet again in the end

People say that sporadic loneliness is the equivalent of suicide?


It is not wrong in the world today to be lonely and walk alone

The problem is when you are surrounded by everyone, good-lying people

What a nail they drive into the brain every day with stupid information

Although you may not be able to see it out of great kindness

For you are too good to be like all other Passers-by;

You stand out from most with your appearance of light

Which breaks over your tired face

But smiling to show perfection pure

Like the birth of God


You know what they say, the most beautiful laughs are those who are sad

And no one's happiness is as perfect as they say

All thanks to ignoring feelings in realism

A renaissance that is not even a "NO" of chance

Which should provide love and pleasure in our veins

The bloodstream that supplies our body, our soul


In the end, gloomy times give a new dimension to living

Let's dedicate ourselves and turn the angle a little in a circle

Everyone will come and go, we are left alone in the world

Without anyone to provide the nearest first aid


We treat ourselves with sedatives in pain, swearing life

Love and all the aggregate states of human existence

Again, we are guilty of living in malice

Gloomy times are yet to come to visit us




Last Smile


Engraved in a pale photograph covered with hoarfrost and dust

We languish palely in our dilapidated room, motionless

Silence, covers thoughts vague


And as his heart flutters, he needs a strong swing of his wings

To revive all old memories

Everything will be as it used to be

Love to cover those little things that meant


He always knows how to fix that sleepless night, and he knows the Moon

What secrets did life hide in the greatest debauchery and play

The emotion of the shallows, they stir night and day for decades

Living together while still searching for our existence


Or the spiritualization of life, because in the end everything remains

Good story and good memories engraved in the photos

Colorful colors in modern times, we see their wrinkles

How they roll and mute in worry, and it’s hard to endure it all


I move them like a heavy tower with my bare hands so that they do not sink

I extend my hand and seek the voice of reason in the game of destiny


The last smile, as if it were yesterday, was persistent

Everything that is good and bad, happens and passes somehow

And we are left with only memories engraved in photography

Covered with hoarfrost and dust in a dilapidated room



Because life has no retrospective, and I’m still looking for us

And as his heart flutters, he needs a strong swing of his wings

To revive all old memories.




MAID CORBIC, comes from Bosnia and Herzegovina. He Is twenty one years, and lives in Tuzla. He spends most of his free time writing and reading books. His works have been published in numerous portals such as: „Kosovo Peonies“, „Amritanyali Journal“, „“, „VIS Internationaly Magazine“ and many others. He is also the Ambassador of Literature in Syria and the representative of his country in Terandaz in International Poetry as the youngest author ever. In addition, he was published in several anthologies such as: "Lockdown Diaries“, „Hum on Humanity", „A Beautifull Words“ and many others. Published in the almanac „Slavic Lyre“ in Russia, as well as the winner in St. Petersburg for Sergei A. Yesenin. Publications printed have a joint collection of prose works „Stories from Isolation“. One of the most representative authors.

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