Long After Our Death
Long after our
death will remain
the clouds of
your hair that you gave to the sea,
the stars spread
by your hand for a calm wind and a peaceful night,
your smile in
bed, my happy silence...
Will the ungrateful
rocks remember us
that are born
bloody in the morning?
The silent sighs
of the birds asleep under the window?
Will the bad
thoughts of the anchored ships forget us,
and the unknown
faces of the sailors,
who think that
fish are your body,
and every night
they hunt them with longing,
but from the
load the fishing nets are being torn apart?
Long after our
death will remain
your kisses on
the way back, my longing waiting
in the
cul-de-sac of the heart where angels touch,
then like a
light flight, the circles of the sun
around the house
and quite a few
of the memories....
and quite a lot
of the dream
.... and our
child who sleeps peacefully with
fire in his eyes
and the lips,
on the old fires
and the hearth.
The Song Of Temjana
Yesterday I
dreamed of the old house.
I walked towards
it, and there I was met by death.
Meek and white,
like a young girl.
She sat on the
threshold. I sat next to her.
We sat and were
silent like two strangers.
As a host and
returnee from abroad.
Even the bent
birches were silent
under the street
lamp.
The shadows of
the unbitten apples were silent.
Even the
sharp-teeth and angry neighborhood dogs.
The street was
deserted and deaf.
We are silent
and do not even look at each other.
Only your image
on the wall is smiling.
Just like the
night I came to get you
and to take you
away from your father's house.
The night and
darkness were silent.
And the boards
creaked under our steps,
your mother and
father sighed in their sleep,
the eaves cried.
Only my heart
sang a song of victory,
as I held your
hand and carried you through the darkness.
No one knew,
only you, Temjana.
You just looked
at me and smiled
before you let
go of my hand and say:
here, from this
night the most beautiful song will be born.
*Temjana is an old
Macedonian name
Breath
Like a small
breathing whisper of a sleeping shadow,
a night
fertilized by a new moon,
a night that was
nursed by a wolf,
that was born of
a ghost, to be called a fairy,
like making love
between longing and distance,
like the
heart-beat of a bat after he drank
the blood of the
whole world,
having collected
all time within himself,
like the death
of an angel in his first flight,
like poison
hidden in a serpent's tooth,
buried juicy in
the thighs in which
sweet passions
are hidden...
Steps...
Steps...
bravely as a
child's gaze,
proudly as a
woman in labor...
someone else's
breath in my chest...
your breath of
slain lust...
so thine and so
dead... that I shall be gone!
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA graduated from the
Department of General and Comparative Literature in Macedonian, and later
graduated from the Macedonian Institute for Media. She was the coordinator of
the literary circle ‘Mugri’ and editor of the same edition. She is the winner
of the prestigious national poetry award “Aco Karamanov”. In the past two years
she has won several national and international poetry awards and recognitions.
For her story ‘Butterfly Skirt’ she won the first prize in the national
competition ‘I tell a photo 2021’ announced by the Holocaust Fund of Macedonia.
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