To This Small and Cold Age
One Man
The Sound of the Soul
Writing a Poem
To the Macedonian Author
Epistle to the Sarajevo Chronicler Izet Sarajlic

All night I waited for the stacking snow
To start drifting in layers –
To have its say and say something white
To start putting out the darkness of the day.

And there, early this morning, it started to sift,
The world whitened, all is white and white is all
(as the child’s poet, Stojan Tarapuza, would say).
The winter used its right to announce purity.
And you’ll agree – it is a human deed.

My gaze is jocund, like a naughty child.
The snow falls thicker – it can save the world –
A divine drift starts to flow.
A white cover adorns yesterday’s grey,
The instance is perfect, you must believe me,
So what if it’s harshly contradictory?
So what if it’s only momentary?
We now have its accurate description…

AuthorGane Todorovski
2018-08-21T17:23:45+00:00 April 1st, 2001|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 20|0 Comments