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.
[author title=” Valentina Novković” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/Velintina-Sindh-Courier.jpeg”]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. [/author]
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
[author title=”Stefania Miola ” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/Stefania-Miola-Italy-Sindh-Courier-2.jpg”]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.[/author]
