Wednesday, November 1, 2023





 Cracks finish the story.


 We do our best

 to feed the world

 with the love he lacks.

 Words are the tree

 whose shadow cools the soul

 when it is burned by human actions.

 You secretly wish you could face

 with the thoughts on which it depends

 the success of the target.

 You stop for a moment

 Only to listen

your own rhythm and

 you step boldly towards

 the meeting with yourself.


 The cracks remain behind you,

 in the timeline called combat

 because everyone is with their own!




 The cloud of wisdom announced

 the rain as a secret companion of memories...

 In a hidden part of the heart,

 the familiar sound rang out

 on the old keys.

 With them, every morning,

 every day, I unlocked

 the room in which

 happiness rippled quietly.

 The pigeon lived there.

 Safely hidden from prying eyes,

 I guarded him and wounded him with

 the crumbs that would remain

 from every embrace with infinity.

 Three years earlier,

 the freedom was his companion.

 After opening the window

 of passion,

 the trees on whose branches

 sang the most beautiful song,

 they began to wither.

 His strength was most fragile,

 when the distance

 showed his supremacy.


 The waves sent a grain of hope

 when they give the

 support of the soul

 whose moving image

 is reflected in

 the drops of childhood,

 hidden in the closet of stories.




 It is located in the abandoned houses,

 kindles the fire of passion for life,

 from the corroded bricks

 rebuilds trust.

 With the crumbs of her secret

 even the most timid are fed.

 It is registered in

 the Old Testament books that

 as a bequest it is transferred with

 all life-giving words,

 uttered in a night whisper.

 It is hidden in the melodies that

 they harmonize every minute

 with her rhythm

 because dancing is the most lively

 in a space forgotten by all,

 when only two eyes see you.


 Then you realize that the smoke of anger

 hid the engraved memory in vain

 for its existence

 in the little things

 when the chimney sweep brought her,

 in the morning, after the burnt-out fire

 from the night before.



LIDIA RAZMOSKA TRIMOVSKA was born in 1982 in Ohrid, Macedonia. She started her journey in the world of literature in her high school days. Writes poetry, short stories, essays and book reviews. Her poetry has been published in various magazines. She has won awards at literary competitions. She was a member of the literary clubs from Ohrid and Skopje, and was actively involved in radio guidance and literary presentations. She is the author of the collection of poems "Lake Sigh". She is an editor and presenter on the blog "Firefly" (Светулка) on Facebook, where in addition to her works, she publishes works by other authors. She lives and works in Skopje, Macedonia.


No comments :

Post a Comment