Fragments of memory taken away

Like a leaf in autumn!

Milisav Rosić

Milisav Rosić, born in Mojkovac in 1997, is a student of Political Sciences. Milisav’s interest in art arose from an early age. His first serious art project is the performance The Artist Don’ Have Ego. He read his first unpublished poems at the art shows. In addition to writing, as his main guide, Milisav tried his hand at video production and as part of the album of singer Olivera Bjelic, where he screened a video for the song Shadow. He has published the book ‘Drugi Svijet’.

Neon

At night – blue-blue

Eyelids at night – red mesh thread in the whiteness of the eye

At night – bitter taste in my mouth

Like a broken crystal hour

Like a dry leaf

As it falls apart

In my hand

And then, unexpectedly that night

Flash…

Then scream…

She dreamed me

Na wet ground laid

Colorless So

Tired and pale

Cold and trembling

Later

Calm and whisper…

Red neon lights!

Red glowing lamps!

The overflow of all shades of red

On the snow cover

The night

I got lost watching the shadows play I was

Obsessed with madness

The bite of my lip

The pleasure of pain

The fire of Divine passion

Losing Yourself

Finding

Hypnotic Madness

At the same time the

Unbeliever and the Servant of God the

Halo as a gift to the sinner

Of God’s judgment!

Zero

Nihil

Nothing

Niko

This song doesn’t have me

There is no one, no rhyme

No people, no life

Hope

Of existence

I jumped into the beauty of non-existence

Fragments of memory taken away

Like a leaf in autumn

The most beautiful shades of all

In the forest fire I burned

Autumn has nothing to kill

Spring has nothing to give birth to

In me, only a scream lies

Eager for freedom

I dream of

The day

When I will sing freely!

Fire

You smell like death.

I don’t know your name

Are you a fiery fire?

Or a vision of my trance

Are you an endless nightmare?

Or a burning desire of my need

And yes, you are not separated

Or

Separated from me

You are Me

And

I am You

There is no greater love

Than love for one’s own flesh

Arteries, veins

To the hot blood

That your heart pumps

Or

Maybe that love is an obstacle

What does not give freedom to freedom

Eat your own flesh

Suck your blood

Bold bones…

You will come to your senses then

The train travels

On the already prepared track

Spark from the wheels

Soul through the path of destiny

Freedom is expensive

You are on the train without a ticket

KTONIJA

Intertwined with a web of threads

Of Spider’s hands

At the beginning of darkness was

Crossed by the hands of the blind

Hopelessness begins and where it must not

The place of power

The womb of the mother

The beginning of everything

Through serenity, peace and non-existence

Silences are screaming here today

Women carry power

Three stages

Where she loses her eyes

Light disfigured

Vision

Where I see in myself the

Primordial and the ancient vow

Stamp

I’m lying on the cold, gloomy ground

I am burning to feel

Non-Existence again and again

Hand me over to the dark

Carry me with your holy hands into the

Womb of the goddess

I love you the most,

Enodia!

Another World

Beam self!

Heavenly messengers!

Cosmic dance!

Light in Darkness The Spirit made of temptation

Radiates

Suffering shapes my path

My wings do not falter

The most beautiful mermaid song

Notes from an angel blessed

Seduces darkness

Seduces and light

Grace and disgrace

The candle and the sinner

There are no pilgrims here

No pilgrimages

The path of the soul

Bare feet and thirsty mouth

Far is the source of water

A, so close

Day and night become one.

I call on you

Creator

Breathe life into me

I call you to the

Creator Some

Memories before the womb

Come alive in me

Altered state of consciousness

I fall and fall

Into another world

Passing through the Desert

In silence

The skin turns the touch of the hand

Through the finest velvet

The scent of the morning waves

Along the sandy shore

The color of silence is black and purple

You are like foam in it…

Forbidden by yourself

In the temptation to disappear

You drown in infinity

You get heavenly wings

I like solitude

Without a human tongue and an eye

Like a dry leaf

Fallen in autumn

I indulge in the beauty

Of dying

I am the most beautiful in death I

Tear every part of myself I throw

It into the fire

I admire the

Flame growing

I watch myself burn

And who am I when everything is burned

Now I am like the melody

Voice that shapes the

Most Beautiful Paradise Aria…

I became a constant sigh of

Creation and destruction

Of Tearing and Assembling

My flesh is moving

Stunning

Constant aspirations

For the vision of the most beautiful roses

… On the balcony of the

Imaginary City

While the breeze sings a lullaby

To my long hair

Tells the stories of sailors…

This balcony

This night is the last

I’m saying goodbye to you

Unforgettable Without Flowers

Memories flood my

Days

Visions of the

Lost City are emerging

Oblivion swallowed

The streets, the lanterns, the lamps

Oblivion took the heroes

Fearless

The only thing left

Echo and echo

The only thing that shines is

The Star in the sky

Maybe nothing is taken away

In the

Afterlife Built of hope

My superhero’s bench is still standing

Every day

I revive you

One day you will

Have more life than me!

_________________

The post The Other World – The Serbian Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

The laughter of owls and the anger

Of squirrels when they quarrel over

The same hollow in the tree.

Valentina Novković

Valentina Novković, graduated from the Department of Russian Language and Literature. She writes poetry, short stories, and reviews; translates literature from Russian into Serbian. She has published poetry and prose in many magazines in Serbia, Russia, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Poland, Romania, Macedonia and Kazakhstan. She represented in numerous domestic and foreign anthologies. Her poems have been translated into Russian, English, Macedonian, Romanian, Uzbek, Azerbaijani, Korean and Bangla. She is winner of many awards for poetry and prose. She has published three poetry books Timeless (2014) Drop on Drought (2018) and Puzzles of Tenderness ( 2021)as well as the book of stories Two Hours of Reality (2020). She is Editor at the Liberland publishing house, where she edits works by artists from Serbia and the surrounding area and translates works by authors from the Russian-speaking area. She received a number of awards for literary translations.

Trick of the times

She enters abruptly,

She does not recognize

Peace and a glass of wine

On the table,

She is not bothered by pencils

And chocolate paper

On which I wrote that the wind

No longer loves me.

She is sitting on a wool carpet

With drawn laughter on the

Third fringe,

She doesn’t care what the angry crows

Will say because the sun

Is setting earlier!

They won’t know that I learned

The laughter of owls and the anger

Of squirrels when they quarrel over

The same hollow in the tree.

All that I am,

Is waiting to be written

On the bark of a hundred-year-old tree

For the memory of those

Who live from the present!

Just as I live from our love

That enters everywhere

Without knowing

The tricks of the times!

***

Tempo truccato

Lui arriva all’improvviso,

lui non trova

pace in un bicchiere di vino

sul tavolo,

non è infastidito dalle matite

e dalla carta del cioccolato

su cui è scritto che il vento

non mi ama più.

È seduto su un tappeto caldo

con risate disegnate sulle frange,

non le importa cosa cantano

i corvi arrabbiati.

Dirà che il sole

Sta arrivando prima.

Non sapranno che ho imparato

le risate dei gufi e la rabbia

degli scoiattoli quando litigano

Per la stessa cavità dell’albero.

tutto ciò che sono,

sta aspettando di essere scritto

sulla corteccia di un albero secolare

per la memoria di quelli

che vivono del presente,

così come vivo del nostro amore.

Che entra ovunque

senza sapere

i trucchi dei tempi.

_______ 

Scars

After a senseless

Struggle for freedom

That often excludes

The view of eternity,

Kneeling smiles remain,

Hats miss meaninglessness,

Narrowed eyes of compassion

Seek excuses in thunders

Who do not recognize weakness!

Because of victories

That can’t be held

Between the palms,

Their goblets mixed

With poison

In front of the door

Without guards and padlocks

The scars heal on their own

By prayer!

***

Cicatrici

Dopo un insensato

lotta per la libertà

che spesso esclude

la vista dell’eternità,

restano sorrisi in ginocchio,

i cappelli mancano di significato,

occhi socchiusi di compassione

cercare scuse nei tuoni

che non riconoscono la debolezza.

A causa delle vittorie

che non si può tenere

tra le palme,

i loro calici mischiati

con veleno.

Davanti alla porta

senza protezioni e lucchetti

– le cicatrici guariscono da sole.

Con la preghiera

______ 

Swing of the rope

Life has gray eyes

That has forgotten

What happiness is?

And soap bubbles

That a girl in a wheelchair

Is trying to reach!

A smile is sometimes

A broken bone of illusion

And skin that is crucified

For a higher goal!

And most of all,

It is a slight swing of the rope

That keeps us upright

As we walk on the ice.

***

Oscillazione della corda

La vita ha gli occhi grigi

Occhi che hanno dimenticato

che cos’è la felicità

e le bolle di sapone

che una ragazza su una sedia a rotelle

sta cercando di raggiungere.

Un sorriso è a volte

un osso rotto dell’illusione

e la pelle messa in croce

per un obiettivo più elevato.

E soprattutto,

è una leggera oscillazione della corda

che ci tiene in piedi

mentre camminiamo sul ghiaccio

Stefania Miola

Stefania Miola is an eminent Poetess, Art Critic and Journalist from Italy. Since 2015, her three books have been published – “One sky – the only true one”, “Violets in the Desert” and “The scent of the white rabbit”. All books are awarded nationally and internationally. Her several poems are present in anthologies of various publishing houses. Stefania Miola had been writing for Sindh Courier.

The post Trick of the Times – Poetry from Serbia first appeared on Sindh Courier.