Poetry

La transcendance de mon grand-père

Deux paires des yeux noirs
me semblent-ils de mes enfants
comme je me suis perdu dans cette guitare
et toi toujours avec moi.
Dans ce trou noir où les cordes
me gardent-ils en cette prison-là
où je me suis tombé.

Et toi, tu m’attendais depuis toujours
comme tu savais qu’il y a dans notre existence un trou pour tous nous
et pour moi c’était celui-là de ta guitare
auprès la vie
auprès la mort
j’étais né ici et je resterai.

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Poetry

Смртта на Калина

Калина Калина
што зборувам јас
немој да ми трчиш
со фустана по река.

Љубени ти образи оревчиња
згрчуваат моминска
ленено бела насмевка
ти два ока бисера
в зелен гори момчињата
ги затајуваат.

Калина Калина
каде си ми сега
нит в поле нит в река
не се чула твоја шега.

Мајка ти и татко ти
млаз солзи исплакаа
легнала си мила Калина
таму далеку в црна река
сон си сонила.

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Poetry

Мојот дом

Сѐ уште го осеќам мирисот на дождот протривајќи ги искршените коцки бетон
на лентата за пешаци
на мене останата влажна трага од парфемот на старите блузи
кои сѐ уште се така педантно здиплени во плакарот во старата детска соба
и куќата е осветлена дури и кога врне
а лисјето секогаш соберено од баба ми уште рано наутро
после толку години за жал нештата сепак се променети
иако како и секогаш излегувам надвор на прагот на балконот
сега не го осеќам мирисот на моето старо куче
не се слуша завивањето на Арон врз месечовиот блесок
но сепак надежда ‘рти кога клучот ја отклучува надворешната врата
од мојот стар дом
домот каде што сѐ уште сплотено се чувствуваат душите
на сите оние оние што ги протриле чистејќи ги чевлите на стапката пред врата
а влезот внатре за мене го претставува најбесконечното четворо ѕидие.

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Poetry

A Sonnet for Spring

In morning vein,
souls timidly awaken
prepare today’s reign
with an unoriginal manifest of rigid walks, metro stops and bacon.

People wondering hot or cold,
a programmed this or that
exclaiming tastes confident and bold
with an often ending of closed eyes and a hat.

However, with a sudden brink of light
a heartwarming rumor chirped,
informs of the fog reseeding so bright
far from the lukewarm atmosphere it usurped.

As thousands of surprised curtains frap,
exposing naked bodies to spring’s welcoming trap.

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Poetry

Dove Means Love

Do wn in the alley
o‘er the abbey
volatile and free
evening might be.

Morning might we cast
eve we shall pass
and for sunny days
nothing shall be maze
surely it would seem to come in a beam.

Lore we will think
oddly we might blink
vividly through the door
eyes glance the galore

when a dove comes passing by.

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Poetry

Summer

White and wood
blue and clouds
peaked a wholehearted villa,
where olive tree sprouts.

Green and pebbles
brown and palms,
a long wooden table
where food itself psalms.

An old vigilant landlord
gives two-three olives to a boy;
here you go son
now you must enjoy.

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Uncategorized

My pocket it’s(eats) my life

(Unoriginal, English translation)

One, two, three…one, two, three…on, off, off, on.

I count my sins and blessings since my birth, I feel disgusted of what I can be or feel a need to be praised for what I was, I live in a zombie culture with abbreviations like LOL, LMAO. We even started using abbreviations to disease like OCD, ALS, never treated just forgotten.

I walk avoiding cracks on the ground, as I sometimes avoid people. I would like to have courage for people as I lack courage to stop the voices in my head, but I feel so alive. I feel like everything is at my palm, I live in Paris but my family is with me every day, I carry them in my pocket.

In my pocket, I carry my dreams. I wanted to be a diver, now I see divers in 3D, 360, VR. My life is augmented, my life is free, and my life is with me, in my pocket. I listen to music in 1080p HD, and sometimes I even intentionally make it low resolution just to be closer and to feel more natural, I just

feel alive.

I find sex online, with three letters just three same letters XXX, how easy, one would say moronic.

But sometimes I still cry, I know my life is perfect, I have an Instagram with over 1000 people who see my photos, they like my photos, I share what I eat, what I cook. They live my life with me, I always get more than 50 likes on my photos and I work for myself online on my laptop, I don’t depend on anyone because I am like my laptop, remote, portable.

Sometimes, I sit bored and I cannot cry, I do not have things to cry about so I watch sad movies, and I cry because I live the moment that the people act, I even comment on every action they do, I feel very close to them.

After that, I follow the actors on social media to know what they thought of everything, because they use features like Facebook Live or Instagram Live, I ask them questions in the chat box, and they respond.

I feel so happy, I feel so alive.
Life was never close to me like this. I just need to find love, I guess I need to upgrade my Tinder to “Gold”, it’s just 10 euros a month.

Art by Yvana Samandova

http://www.yvanasamandova.com

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