A
Love Song
The midday heat
evaporates like a sigh.
The reapers
reap the grain,
and the grain
ripens and grows between the fingers,
breaks like a
cross, divides into four,
for all four
corners of the world,
the grain
swells, the bread rises.
The waters and
the heavens are full.
I say to the
mountain - come!
And she rumbles
and rears,
every root
takes roots again,
the earth
returns the swallowed blood,
the letter
wakes up and resurrects,
the tongue of
the prophets revives,
but none of
them know
with which
thread and needle
she sews them
every day
the light with
the dark,
the shadow with
the man,
the longing
with the eternity...
But none of
them know
with which
force then she separates them
mine from her
body
mine from her
soul,
as I want
remain chained and cursed
for the land I
loved.
The
Nights When I'm Silent
It's dark
tonight my love.
And I dream of
my mother's old hearth.
We are children
hidden in the ashes.
We look for
embers, we put them in our palms,
we run across
the meadows with fire in our eyes
convinced that
we can set the stars on fire.
Our palms are
starry, mu love,
from the embers
that warm our fingers.
The mountains
in the heights are burning.
From the sky to
your feet on the ground
there is a
pinch of smoke and a handful of ash.
We broke all
the hourglasses
and we let the
water wash them away.
Our steps are
covered with ashes, my love.
We blow on them
as if we wanted to
let's blow it
out with a deep breath
the existence
of a dandelion.
We run across
the meadows with fire in our eyes.
Only mother is
watching us through the window
that we managed
to set the stars on fire.
She collects
our ringing laughter
and he threaded
it to sew them with it
the holes in
the threshold and the walls.
Our houses sway
on the breath of time,
they swing
towards each other and
they touch each
other with the chimneys.
It's dark
tonight my love.
And I fall
asleep on the heavenly pillow
and I hide them
under it
all the
extinguished stars.
Wiping
Out
I don't know
how to disperse them
the black birds
above your head
not to make a
nest in your hair,
as I name the
clouds that
they hung over
our roof.
I want to curl
them into a perfect pile of sugar wool
which will
disappear in the laughter and noise of the fair.
I want to draw
new shapes between the branches
which will
remind of yellow-blue spring.
I wipe the dust
from my palms
penetrated into
the tiny recesses.
My fingers are
like oak,
the one that
stubbornly grows on our doorstep.
I also erase
the traces of his roots
they leave them
under our feet as we walk.
I delete,
create, recreate, all over again
every new
day...
Because I don't
know and I can't do otherwise.
And I can't
tell you: I love you,
as I cover your
cold body,
because we left
the window open
and the cold
world entered our room.
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA is graduated
philologist and journalist. She was the coordinator of the literary circle
'Mugri' and the editor of the poetry almanac of the same name. She is
represented in the Anthology of recent Macedonian poetry for young people
Purpurni izvori by Suzana V. Spasovska, the anthology One Hundred and One
Poems, edited by famous Macedonian poetess Svetlana Hristova Jocic, the
collection of poetry and short prose by young people from the former Yugoslav
territories Manuscript 30. Silvana writes poetry, short prose, essays and haiku
verses. She is the author of the anthology Angels with five wings, published as
part of Struga evenings of poetry. She appears as a reviewer of several
collections of poetry by young authors. She is the winner of the second and
third 'Blaze Koneski' prize for a scientific essay. For her first collection of
poetry, “You, who came out of a song”, she won the prestige national 'Aco
Karamanov' award. For her short story 'Butterfly Skirt' he won the first prize
of the contest 'I tell a photo 2021' announced by the Holocaust Fund of the
Jews of Macedonia. This year, she won several national and international awards
and recognitions.
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