When we picked blackberries one September,
Behind the Bregalnitsa, on the Balvan meadows,
The younger daughter of the Cossack migrant
Ran to us with her hands bleeding. “Look, look, roses
Are blossoming on my fingers!” shouted Aksya in Russian,
”Posmotrite! Posmotrite!”
And no one knew
Which of the roses were thorn bites
And which kisses of the innocent fruit.
The Return of the Defeated
That Man in the Mirror
The Roses on Aksya"s Fingers
My Father Ulysses
The Return of the Defeated
An Encounter with а Snake
The Departure of the Eels
Near to Death Near to Life
The Roses on Aksya"s Fingers
My Father Ulysses
The Return of the Defeated
An Encounter with а Snake
The Departure of the Eels
Near to Death Near to Life
AuthorSrbo Ivanovski