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

Translated by: Zoran Ančevski

(For Hristo Poljanski)

To this small (and cold) age
We gave our warmth –
We warmed it with sweet words
And cared about its growth…

To this small (and muddy) age
We gave our clarity –
Carried by its swift flow
We interpreted it briskly…

To this small (and cursed) age
We addressed all our vulgar curses –
It scolded us with gurgling words:
We were far too demanding…

Of this small (and tripped-up) age
We became advocates –
With glamour and clamour, with cure
Dreamers! Lovers!…

To this small (and kneeling) age
We offered our hand –
We found a remedy for it
And drank in its health…

To this small (and kicked-off) age
We gave renewal –
We kept it alert:
Preservers! Presenters!

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