Torch

Torch

Eye
Jagorida
Partition of the Light
The Excitement of the Kernel
Torch
Internal Sonnet
An Apple
On Macedonian Roads

Is our brother secretly moving into
alien kingdoms, creasing
under his arm a rustling snakeskin?
Boes he wonder: for whom are we so patiently

from time immemorial, carving a deep
oak pail? Upon a hot a windy
rope, to the rusty copper
box, your genus rises,

as if sprinkled with some alien
inspiration. Does our brother rust
isolated among seeds, enlightening us

faithfully with the blade?
The lark’s on the wing, the snail’s
on the thorn, God’s in his heaven.

Translated by: Dragi Mihajlovski and David Bowen

AuthorSande Stojčevski
2018-08-21T17:23:59+00:00 February 1st, 1999|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 07|0 Comments