Friday, October 1, 2021





Traveler’s Song


I travel.

I don’t have time for coffee

(or even the use of toilets on stations)

I travel.

The vertebrae are hurting me

under the heavy backpack

Sahara itches spilled all over my back

pearls are itching from my palms pockets.


My spine is a heavy rise of Himalaya

going down the

rope starting at the back of my head.

I travel,

to the top of the back

to the rope

to the tortured

(From the ass to the head

the road is long).




In my pathetic attempt to copy Lawrence

I will get tangled up in dust


Chicken piles

If they were only made of silk


Your clumsy gentleness

of a bear

made this ice queen melt


Although she never told you


Baked you

walnut pancakes


From the trance

Coming to herself


When the train has already passed


Senseless Noise


And you will allow the sticky looks of contempt

 and envy born of the blemish blindness

and despair piled up

 in backbone and wrinkled arms

You will allow the misfortunes and torments

yours and those of the others

You will shoulder both

 what you have to

 and what the others load in your saddlebags

You will be seizing the life of the others

 and the others will be taking it from you

ground in the same mill

till we meet our maker, till the very end

And whoever receives the ticket to hell and whoever to heaven

You will allow everything down the water

when everything

 and everyone flow away and leave

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry

But you'll remember only those silent days

when all of this is over

in which you were lucky to find your own teddy

to cuddle under the covers

and everything suddenly pauses and stops

becoming a senseless noise




KATARINA SARIĆ, 10. 03.1976. LIVES AND CREATES BETWEEN HER NATIVE BUDVA and Belgrade. She graduated with a degree in philosophy and then language and South Slavic literature. She writes socially-engaged poetry, prose and essayistic.


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