MAYA MILOJKOVIĆ

 

 

Butterflies

 

My butterflies are my pets

whom I lead to the pasture of dreams.

They compete in the beauty of their wings

and playfully fly among poppies

that color the meadows red.

They flow through a heavenly symphony

and material observation.

Human curiosity longs to ruin their wings by touch;

they wish to gather the dust of gentle bodies

and hold it in their palms,

yet by doing so, they steal their breath.

How do they not understand?

All beauty is created

to connect us with Divine Beauty,

yet people, out of selfishness,

claim, seize, and imprison it in insectariums

to remind themselves of the beauty

of an already lifeless body.

It is painful to witness

how butterflies suffer

while exposed to a slow dying.

O my beauties, how could I hide you?

How could I breathe life into you

while a pin destroys your bodies?

O my souls, guardians of my flock,

I cannot restrain the joy of your flight,

for it summons misfortune,

nor can I preserve your beauty.

I cry out while my echo

resounds against the cold, nearby mountain.

God, protect these gentle souls

from the lethal human gaze.

 

To You, O God

 

Your reflection dwells in the eyes of the spiritual.

I seek You, O God —

tirelessly, in the silence of morning,

in a drop of dew,

in the breath that awakens with the dawn.

I search for You

in the touch of the wind,

in the bird that sings unseen,

in thoughts that fall silent

while the heart speaks.

I know,

You are everywhere —

in the gaze of the beggar,

in the smile of the wise,

in the hush of the temple,

and in the clamor of life.

When I kneel,

it is not before the world,

but before Your eternal goodness.

When I weep,

I do not fear sorrow —

for I know You are in every tear.

To You, O God,

I offer this verse,

let it be a bridge

between my being

and Your eternity.

 

To Archangel Michael

 

To You, exalted Angel,

I pray and give thanks even in happiness.

Your eyes are a path,

your eyes are deep as the ocean.

Your sword is sharp,

cutting through all knots,

all pain and injustice.

Your wings are my protection —

with them, mercifully and without touch,

you embraced my soul.

You have your army,

your path is the path of righteousness.

You granted me mercy

which I open only in the secrecy of the heart.

Last night, Your feather touched me,

sent through a guide —

it makes incisions,

it hurts, yet it liberates.

My words flew like comets

in different directions,

seeking forgiveness.

Your words of comfort

guarded my secrets.

My heart is a witness

that coincidences do not exist:

with every wound there is a healer,

with every tear — a hand holding a handkerchief,

with every cry — a word of solace.

I know You protect me.

I know that when I wish to fall asleep,

Your prayer

becomes a call to awakening.

 

MAYA MILOJKOVIĆ

MAJA MILOJKOVIĆ: She was born in Zaječar, Serbia. She is the deputy editor at "Sfairos" publishing house in Belgrade, Serbia. She is the vice-president of the association "Rtanj and Mesečev poetski krug". She is the author of 2 books: "The Circle of the Moon" and "Trees of Desire" She is the editor of the International Anthology "Rtanjski stihopevi" One of the founders of the poetry club "Area Felix" from Zaječar, Serbia and the editor of an international magazine for creative literature and culture "Area Felix".