SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA

 

 

The Storm Has Come

 

The storm came as unexpected news,

knocked with the sound of a familiar step,

and then it thundered, resounding loudly

in a proud gallop on a furious horse.

He went round the house seven times,

as if it were an army coming

with the sound of the horn and the harp

because of which the city will fall.

I see him curled up in front of me.

The earth crumbles under his step,

the memories stuck in the dust are unearthed.

And he's breathing hard and labored.

Roared the red horse, running into unbridled passion

and reaches irresistibly towards the cherry,

he bears her branches, wraps her joint,

in ecstasy it uproots.

I stand dumbfounded before that awesome beauty.

I scream when I sense - sick from

love - the cherry has surrender.

 

We Sew Stars In The Sky

 

We sew stars in the sky.

Where we left undreamed of voids,

black holes penetrate through them,

our home smells of dust and smoke.

Unborn constellations come to us in our dreams

'We forgive you!' We forgive you!' - they tell us.

'You are stardust from the same Source born,

one day you will return to our beginning. '

We walk under the sky with bowed heads.

Our legs are heavy. Our step is dark.

The earth smells of birth and dew.

Our bodies smell of blood.

Centenary trees come to us in our dreams

'We forgive you!' We forgive you! '- they tell us.

'You are earth incarnated in a STEM,

one day you will return to our roots.'

Oh, we. We no longer believe in spring and beginnings.

We tear it apart and patch the torn.

We wrap the space with decorative cellophane,

to keep breathing air.

We put adhesive tape on everything worn and broken.

We build towers of eternal plastic

through which the sun penetrates less often.

We rise and go to bed in the darkness of our beliefs.

Our children fall asleep with extinguished desires in their eyes.

Oh, we. We sew stars in the sky.

 

Sewing

(Or How To Repair Torn Edges)

 

Morning. 12th attempt to get through

the thread in the needle.

My son looks at me with blessed serenity

while waiting for me to sew the edge.

I am on the edge of crossing it

all fictional borders.

His smile helps me

to collect all my being

in the needle hole.

They pass through it

the sun's rays, the smell of autumn,

the distant barking of sad dogs,

the sigh of a lonely willow,

on whose branches it still hangs

a small letter, in the shape of a paper airplane.

My son looks at me with sublime childlike calmness

while I struggle again to

patch, sew, mend, create

all spoiled, tattered, suddenly torn.

On his t-shirt lying on my lap

the sun embroiders the shadows of the day.

 

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. Past two years, she won several national and international awards and recognitions. This year she was one of the Laureates of the prestige World Poetry Prize “Naji Naaman” and was declared an honorable member of the Academy of Culture of the same name in Leabanon.