Monday, May 1, 2023


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 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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