124. (memory)
131. (as you give yourself to your lover)
156. (kiss)
188. (your walls)

Selected and translated by: Elizabeta Bakovska

there is nothing to tell
nothing to prove
what was indeed was
so one should not seek
any meanings any games
in her or in us
or an intention to show
a new state of spirit
in images of love extasy

it was simply us
while she was with us
with a passion for some sorrow
in her eyes a distant star
much later much too late
we realised her death

as a martter of fact her
slow dying
as a yellow leaf on a dry bough
extinguishing in the air
before they fall togther
the leaf and the dry bough
in abysses in silence
with the wind of a long autumn

there are no
any meanings any games
there is nothing yet
to discover
to interpret
to rethink
what was indeed was

one should seek no more poetry
no sources
no creative challenges
it simply happened
what happened with her
what happened with us
and then the war an death
and then the game
drew us so much
that we completely forgot
the beginning
our end

rest assured
we made love
because she knew
none of us
in her sickness or her passion
she recognised herself

AuthorLjupčo Dimitrovski
2018-08-21T17:23:26+00:00 April 1st, 2004|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 35|0 Comments