Bedtime Story
Night descended
to cover it
the gunpowder
from the streets.
My son closes
his eyes,
those doors that
lead
to my last
refuge.
When the war
came she sneakily hid
between the
branches of the
cherry tree and
the blossoms.
I tell him a
bedtime story.
In some house in
the city
is the princess
waiting for her rescue.
Somewhere, on
the city streets
rides the prince
who rushes to save her.
The deep sound
of the bombs is
the step of the
giant.
When he walks he
shakes violently
the land of
fairies.
Their world is
turned upside down
and they
frantically and confusedly
hang with their
heads down.
My son giggles
and his giggling
muffles the
sound of the grenades.
I kiss his eyes
and close them
not to see the
bloody print
from the palm of
the window.
I leave the
room.
On the way out I
hear him say:
The monsters
that hide under the bed
in fact, they
run away and are afraid of us.
When I’m Leaving You
When I’m leaving
you
the silence in
the room falls asleep on your ears,
outside is the
mating month of the cats;
you sleep in
love with screams
as a Yogin
trapped in the land of Kadali
you dream
dancing, like a thief, on your toes,
your dreams dyed
purple
are like wild,
Amazonian rains;
flowing hair of
Navajo women
in a sacrificial
ritual for the hunger of the gods;
When I’m leaving
you
restless winds
blow from the North,
somewhere far
away with the cruelty of an eye
the night is
raped by the stars’ tellers,
I shed my skin
before my journey,
I cut a lock of
hair and pour ashes on my palms,
you passionately
believe in cyclicality and return,
you send shadows
to follow my steps
to lead me on
the left side of the world;
but you still
don't know where my fingers reach
9 miles from the
birth point of the fire,
always, just a
step from your dreaming;
When I leave you
I return with
purple rain on my forehead
and moist earth
beneath the skin and bones,
when the screams
lurk in the corners,
I'll be back at
the exact time
when silence
frees your power to listen
and cats fall
asleep tired of love;
I come to you as
a healer, a breath away,
after past three
cycles of lunar living
I give you the
advantage of one kiss
for my, now,
remaining six.
The Shadow
Your steps
disappear
under the weight
of the shadow.
Your body is
sweating
before the
greatness of thought:
when will you
open the roads?
that they ever
took out
armies and
commanders,
philosophers and
rulers,
the
laurel-bearers of Olympus,
the golden lips
of Parnassus....
Your reflection
on the asphalt is getting smaller
or the eyes are
powerless before the zenith.
Time is your
enemy
who still rides
on your left side.
You take them
out of your pockets
herbs and
powders,
lizard claws,
bat tails,
amalgams,
the drops of the
holy river,
the tears of
newborns,
the smiles of virgins....
You scatter them
somewhere between the stones
but they will
never become gold.
The black dog
that licks your feet
sucks the marrow
out of your bones,
gnaws away at
remaining faith,
a piece of
longing and nostalgia,
a few forgotten
dreams
and... you so
relieved
you can continue
on your way.
The road on
which more and more
your shadow
disappears
under the weight
of steps.
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.
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