Tuesday, November 1, 2022



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




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 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.


No comments :

Post a Comment