Thursday, December 1, 2022



New Dawns


Humanity is mired in wounds

People are rolling in the mud

Greed and envy prevail good

Value is measured only in gold.


We need to find a cure for salvation

And unshackle of shame

Just carry love in heart and believe

That the place of sorrow will shine at dawn.


Justice and equality for the whole world

Heal with the balm of early Jasmin flowers

Mercy and compassion divided

Don't let the cult of the family collapse.


Humanity is treated by inventions

Great deeds and humane work

Fight for a better, happier life

The whole planet will sparkle with hope.


One learns from mistakes

Let not the past year be repeated

Positive thoughts to strengthen our spirit

Sunny dawn welcome to everyone.


Poverty Of Soul


An impoverished planet trembles

Unexamined diseases run rampant

Closed petals of a trampled flower

Paths of hope close.


We are threatened by the third world war.

Great powers clashed.

Brother fell upon brother.

The stars quarreled in the sky.


Mercy and love pour out

Have mercy on the tender, red poppies

On the fields of pain in the blood the winged secret peeps

 And dreams come true.


God's chant plays sadly

The fragrance of salvation covers the sky

The wounded flute of charity and peace calls

The holy mystery of love.


Duška Kontić



A Wisp Of Mist


I am no longer your prayer

The breeze carries the curls

The star on my palm I squeeze

A strand of mist in your hair.


You haven't forgotten me...

I know. Longing grows in your fingers.

Maddened, haunted flame licks

And caresses the wounded woman.


I won't even give you my thoughts,

I won't say a single word to you.

And to God, I will give my soul

Desire in a burning candle.


How painful this hellish night is.

It breaks me for too long and lasts.

The tribute with bloody verses shows

The scars on my heart.


I leave you ripe blackberries.

Sharp brambles adorn my hands.

Black thorns have branched out.

Stars are extinguished in agony.


The poisoned hawthorns wail through the wildness

Tearing the hot, scorched skin Thundered over the old mountain

A gnawed heart on a sharp knife.




DUŠKA KONTIĆ was born in Zenica in 1958. She finished primary and secondary school in Nikšić. She graduated from the Faculty of Philosophy in Nikšić at the department of Serbo-Croatian language and Yugoslavian literature. She has been writing since childhood. She is a member of the Mirko Banjević Literary Association from Nikšić, within which she published a collection of poetry Nemirni smiraj. She is also a member of the International Association of Literary Creators and Artists, "Nekazano" from Bar and the Association of Writers and Artists "Zenit" from Podgorica, with whom she has a successful synergy. Also she is curenty publishing in anthologies around the world.


No comments :

Post a Comment