Translated by: Zoran Ančevski
(Everything I give this poem)
I give this poem my two hands
that have forgotten to write in living languages.
I present it with the blue city
that moves on a dreadful thought.
Its exile, however, is limited
to a small bottom between two hills.
I give it my narrow room.
I have given up, anyway.
I give this poem the zebra
that lies on my neighbour’s balcony.
I also give it a grandmother
that shoots at the Moon with blanks.
I give it the one who blew the conch
and is now asleep in my tub.
I give this poem
a character from a play
who repeats incessantly:
Everything will be fine as it’s been so far!
I give this poem more senses
than the passers-by have –
that way it cannot escape from the truth.