Poetry
30. 12. 2017
Damir Malesev

Lazarus Heart

He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mother’s hand

Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
I’d be the blood of the Lazarus heart
The blood of the Lazarus heart

Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself
at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you can’t hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside

Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
I’d be the blood of the Lazarus heart
The blood of the Lazarus heart

Birds on the roof of my mother’s house
I’ve no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mother’s house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain

Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
I’d be the blood of the Lazarus heart
The blood of the Lazarus heart

The wild sea

I saw it again this evening
Black sail in a pale yellow sky
And just as before, in a moment
It was gone where the grey gulls fly.

If it happens again I shall worry
That only a strange ship could fly
And my sanity scanned the horizon
In the light of a darkening sky.

That night as I walked in my slumber
I waded into the sea strand
And I swam with the moon and her lover
Until I lost sight of the land.

I swam till the night became morning
Black sail in a reddening sky
Found myself on the deck of a rolling ship
So far where no grey gulls fly.

All around me was silence
As if mocking my frail human hopes
And a question mark hung in the canvas
For the wind that had died in the ropes.

I may have slept for an hour
I may have slept for a day
For I woke in a bed of white linen
And the sky was the colour of clay.

At first just the rustle of canvas
And the gentlest breath on my face
Then a galloping line of white horses
Said that soon we were in for a race.

The gentle sigh turned to a howling
And the grey sky she angered to black
As my anxious eyes searched the horizon
And the gathering sea at my back.

Did I see the shade of a sailor
On the bridge through the wheelhouse pane
Holding fast to the wheel of the rocking ship
As I squinted my eyes in the rain
For the ship had turned into the wind
Against the storm to brace
And underneath the sailor’s hat
I saw my father’s face.

If a prayer today is spoken
Please offer it for me
When the bridge to heaven is broken
And you’re lost on the wild wild sea.

Translated from Serbian by author

Poetry
30. 12. 2017
Anush Ana Balayan

Avala settles

I remember you,
White stone city,
Through the memories
To your Majesty.

Sava became muddy.
Avala settles,
Mother’s heart’s
Danube shrinks.

Serbia

Serbia, You were a refuge to many
In moments
When you were choking on your own blood.

Torn by the unworthy degenerates,
Still, you are a useful piece.
If at least a proud eagle ripped you apart!
But no! You are ripped by pitiful ravens.

Blood drips from your heart,
You have a close sister,
At least we are not alone in this life,
Let me wipe your eyes from tears.

Above the Ruins of Belgrade

Nothing has changed.
What has being demolished,
It remained the same, unrepaired.
And wounds are bloody
The eyes are sad
And the sky is gray.

Changes of
Just the speakers.
Changes of
Just the lying methods.
A century has passed,
So, has the millennium.
Human suffering left
The same and unchanged.

Belgrade 1999

Translated from Serbian by Radomir Baturan

Poetry
30. 12. 2017
Mirko Dimic

Never go wild in that sweet delight

I
With my fingerprints I crossed
over covers of books
disorderly scattered on the attic
The dust was lifting
on the light of small window in the air
just like a swarm of flies in the summer.
You could smell the past;
I saw it on the floor, without covers
naked and free.
It had a smell of a passionate reader
that smell was strong like a brandy to my heart
I enjoyed in it, touching it, reading it with fire in my eyes
Something stopped me at the page fourteen.
At the top of the page
there was something written in ink:
“From the bottom of my heart to my lovely Emma”
I looked at these words for a long time
It started taking me all over, it was like a poison running through
my veins,
my heart began to pound like drums of hell
I felt like burning, I saw her, I saw her with my own eyes
in the attic with a smell of past
there she was in a white dress, long legs, barefooted,
standing on her toes with open arms
Emma was calling me
Like Beatrice called Dante
Her chapped lips were colored
with dark red paint of grapes
I longed for her, crying, desiring , wishing
to reach her, to touch her, to kiss her,
some strange evil dragged me towards her,
her beauty,
cracked me in thousand pieces,
I started to drown in my own passion
my skin started melting off my face, like in front
of a close sun
I couldn’t handle that poisonous beauty
I threw the book away,
and it dropped back in the dust in the past
I ran down from the attic in fear, running far away from the book,
from her
Emma was his, she was his curse
just his and no one else’s, no one could have her
he trapped her in that sign forever.

II
I am tired of the long nights without the moon,
I am tired of the smiling faces without happiness,
false humor and petty souls,
cold wind from the north and rainy autumn afternoons,
I am tired of betrayal, frauds, explanations,
painful meaningless fights, compliance
under false authorities,
fear, leg shaking, wrong loves, painful breakups.
I am tired of days without football, loud women, plastic fruit,
phone ringing, sirens sounds.
I am tired of bills, thoughtlessly studying,
cold water, under cooked meat,
I am tired of disease, illness, sickness, malady,
I am tired of death, losses, I am a bit tired of life as well.
But I know I will get up each day ready to be tired again and again
but that’s life my boy.

III
The thrill is gone
In this lonely night
The match has ended
In this scary fight
It was me against you
And you against me
Sky against the sea
blue against blue
Two imperfect creatures
Found in this crazy world
Fixing like a bone to the bone
Alone with alone
They became two
At first it seemed like
A love at the first sight
But there was something cursed
That pushed them to the fight
It was that strange thing called pride
That drowns people in love
To the end it rides
Just like that there was no more
two
There was me against me and you against you
Bone separated from the bone
Nothing has left except the flesh
You looked at me on my knees
with my head on your legs
you moved your fingers through my hair
we knew that was it
and there was nothing anymore to say
Like Hans Kastrop spoke with Madam Chauchat
I spoke to you through flesh, time, rust and bones
In that infinity time through Cosmos, chaos and black holes
We came back to Earth
Standing across each other
It was only me against me
And you against you

IV
The wind was strong and sharp to my face
Walking through the woods looking for my soul and grace
There was something strange in those trees
As I remembered my grandmother’s words:
„Trees speak“
Down the path covered with dirt I took my walk.
The wind was strong and sharp to my face,
Up in the sky there was a birds’ dance
In that peace of nature,
I felt the presence of a creature
It wasn’t one of the beasts you can
find in the dark in the green trees
It was something that follows you everywhere
It was that cold breath on your neck
Your biggest enemy
Your mind and head
In the shadow of the trees
I felt the presence of the fear
Is that my biggest enemy?
Yes it is,
Hard to fight when your enemy
Can’t been seen.
So, the question that is before us here
Is how to fight an enemy you can’t see?
The answer is here,
the end of the path is near,
The human, strongest in the chain of the world
Has no enemies in nature
No beast, or plant can harm
Him as his fear and mind
I’m breathing the air while the wind
plays the sweet music with the leaves
This is our heaven and we should live
with nature in peace
But the greatest trick that the devil ever pulled
Was to convince the people that he doesn’t exists
The devil is the human and the fear is the beast
We fight the wrong enemies and that’s our fault
We should stop listening to our mind,
and start listening to the trees
Like the best friends,
in the golden era we would comeback
When the nature was one with the men
Respect each other stop the reality
and dream to the end.

V
We will disappear without a trace,
Without a trace,
across the stars from the other side
our bond is broken
I am deathly holding for the word “love”
Help me embrace the hell
Bloody heart full of anger
Beats for you now
I am deathly holding for the word “love”
Without any strength full of pain
We will disappear without a trace,
Without a trace,
Flying across the skies,
across the seas,
trying to reach you
but your trace is hidden
and the stars are fading
Please, just say a word in this dark
just to remember me for what I’m fighting for
show that you are real,
show me that you are near
I am deathly holding for the word „love“
weak and broken from this hell
with the last atom of hope
I am praying to dream
In this lonely darkness night
full of terror and fright
I desperately need your words, darling
like a fire that burns all the away.
Oh, I know it is the end
that knocks on my door
My heart is slowing down
but I love you even more
Years and years have passed
Not a word from you
I am scared that I have lost you
The last thing that dies is hope
they say
But I have buried mine long time ago
in that dark night full of terror
and fright
The only thing that is left for me is
that I deathly hold for the word “love”
We will disappear without a trace
without a trace
Like stars that are fading away
but that word “love”
so simple but, so complex
full of me and full of you
will stay
will forever stay.

VI
Where does the darkness begin?
Is there always an end, and what is an end
exactly for a man?
In the days of sadness, boredom, and some really
sweet melancholy, I think about
the beginning and about the end of my existence,
often looking myself in a mirror, looking
for answers,
Who am I?
Where do I come from?
What am I doing?
Where are we exactly pointed to go?
In the absence of answers
I would console myself
that a man has been born with
only one purpose
to rush towards death.
But this kind of an end doesn’t satisfy me
It must be something bigger
The death by itself can’t be just the
vanish of the flash and bones
There must be a trophy
for the runner at the end of a race
Maybe the whole thing about that
scary thing called death is just misunderstood
It’s possible that nothing has an ending
or a beginning,
Maybe the beginning and an ending
are the same line
Our lives go by from a minute to a minute
every second a new beginning starts and it ends
I wonder,
where I am on that line?

VII
Who I am?
The question that I often ask myself,
while I walk like a wanderer through the dark, toxic clouds of people
It seems like a cold sidewalks of the lost cities are my chosen path.
While the freezing breath of winter tears me apart a thought has been
born inside of my head.
How many sidewalks and streets does the world have?
Fear seizes me…
I didn’t choose this path,
but I walk it!
I didn’t choose my life,
but I live it!
Reader, take a look at the mirror, It’s you,
Yes, that perfect creation of the nature that’s you,
We both know that, but something is strange isn’t it?
Yes, I can feel that it’s coming to you very fast , now the heat is taking
you all over and there it is, you ask yourself,
Who am I?

VIII
Woke up this morning and went straight to the cops,
I said:
My bloody hands must be stopped!
They laughed and laughed
and finally said: Go home poet your pen can’t make pain
I went home sad and disappointed,
thinking if the law can’t help me who can?
I took a pen my deadly weapon and looked at my hands
It seems like they are not as bad
I started writing on that white cloud on my desk
Thinking it’s time to take down all the masks
Shall I write about sorrow and pain?
No, today I will skip!
Today I’ll write about black and white,
order and chaos
me and you, you and me
Ying and Yang
flower and a bee…
I will write about you like Poe
wrote about Annabel Lee,
and my heart will be as big
as the world’s biggest sea
while the blood flows from my pen
I will remember you with every word,
giving me hope and to the world.
I wanna be yours, yes, that could save me
I wanna be your knight, yes, that braves me
In this deep ocean of pain and sorrow that scared me
you were a drop that cured me.
It was a Wednesday you remember,
you were standing on the spring sun
In the red dress, smiling like a muse,
Your hair like a straws of gold were heaven to my eyes
I was looking at you thinking to approach,
and just as you know,
Someone came out of nowhere like a storm taking,
All that I dreamed for
He took my bravery, my cure, my flower and my Lee
There was only left lonely broken wings of bee
No more flying in the sky.
There was only room for a goodbye.
I never knew your name, or you ever knew who I am
We could have a pretty life you know,
We could have children and a warm home.
But it is what it is,
My hands will be covered with blood so would be my pen
I will kill you all over in my poems again and again
I know I can’t help myself,
I will kill you on the paper, in my dreams,
Tomorrow after tomorrow again and again
If the law can’t help me as well
Tell me please who can?

IX
Never go wild in that sweet delight
The night is strange and full of fright

Never go wild in that sweet delight
cause world is not friendly and full of fight

Be brave my friend,
even if you know you are fragile and gent

The body can be weak,
but the soul must be strong

Even if you get hurt
choose what is right, but not what is wrong

Never go wild in that sweet delight
cause love can hurt,
but it is a beautiful butterfly flight,

In the days of sorrow and grief
make a strong hug to your believes

Never go wild in that sweet delight
Understand everything, learn and know
In the world full of darkness be the shining light
Trust everyone but yourself the most
Because fear is tricky and deceiving

Know who your friends are and keep them close
forgive to the enemies because the hate nothing knows

Enjoy the silence when you are alone
because then you meet yourself the most

Never go wild in that sweet delight
something that seems broken is inside bright

Fly up and up
meet the sky, feel the light

Think about what is strange to you
dream about the heaven and stars

Touch the water like a child
Make love to the woman like for the first time

Life is short and it can end soon
The days don’t have to be special

Inspiration is in little things
you will find it out just watch the moon

Never go wild in that sweet delight
be a wolf and know your pack

Never forget that you will be on top
and sometimes on the bottom and back

Never go wild in that sweet delight
be one with the nature and tame the beasts
of your mind

Never go wild in that sweet delight
remember your good days, just as bad
Love yourself and your kind

Because you have a purpose
and you must find out what that is

Never go wild in that sweet delight
because it is called life
and life is sometimes sweet
sometimes harsh

Never give up
It’s a new day
stand up and fight..

Translated from Serbian by author

Poetry
30. 12. 2017
Dorijan Dobric

14 kilometers of walking distance on beach while moon creates shadow of ourselves

I can’t remember the time,
When I wasn’t in this train,
All my lives and thoughts,
Were just as yours, in vain,

They proudly represent themselves,
They are gentle, they caress,
But there is nothing but his perfection
The reflection of his perfection,
They caress.

They are proud, they are round,
They are glass, they are cloud,
They are seats in the train,
‘t goes round and round
And It rises again,
in a ground, in a ground
dawn of mind is found,
to caress.

They are proud, they are round,
They are glass, they are cloud,
They are seats in the train,
‘t goes round and round
And It rises again,
in a ground, in a ground
dawn of mind is found,
to caress

One

Her arrival was most opportune, as I stood there looking at some-
thing that I’ve never seen before.
My current thoughts unstable, and my mind rushes through time,
hurting my spirit.
Her arrival was most opportune, as I said, she held fire in her arms,
yet her body felt like water.
At the moment, just when cloud dyed senses, I knew that beauty in-
dulged my presence.
When you peel the surface, and take deep dive, the only scene, ever
played, is fire that feels like water.
Since I am human, and limited with flesh, I can only follow in-
comprehensive flash, but I have seen the beauty, just as see you now.
She held fire in her arms, yet her body felt like water.

Proceed

In my life, I have only two possessions: books, which count in number
not more than one hundred and fifty five,

And two instruments, the two dearest to me, in which I wondrously
free
And I live happily.

But for some deep, dark and inexplicable reason you want me to have
even more,
Much more,
Much more than I need.

So I gave my time and boredom to rise myself in your relentless eyes,
In your profound and steep yellow eyes,
Indulging your greed.

And when you find me in the street, penniless, without food aside,
Selling my instruments, two by one,
Giving priceless cheap books and law abide,
Please don’t give me money from your greed,
I beg you, once again,
Please proceed.

Story of lifetime of happiness
not so much

I thought that I ever
Sever, never serve
under such nerve
Never mind perversion
that will blur my vision.

Owe it to yourself,
As if prime minister,
Always so sinister,
Not truly believing anyone.

My supreme craft is annihilation
Of beer draft, will you suspend
the rules daft, deer hunted to be eaten,
So happy to everafter, ending laughter to everlast.

Feed me, provide me news feed me daily,
Well indeed, well and good, and if not,
Not truly overpassing the forced impasse.

All of them will lay on grass,
Metal coins with sound of brass,
Cosy, cosy, thick as a singing glass,
I have an early class,
Member of, whatever, I had a blast.

Oh so radiant, oh so blissful,
Insightful, red bull for breakfast I have,
In his own particularity,
In its own singularity,
One not to be able to see
It all foreseen,
It all complete.

I don’t want to compete,
I just want to sit and enhance my wit,
Just to deny division
Between light and sith,
Oh just shut the pack of cigars,
They will be stale,
Eventually.

Thank you, Shakespeare

That my sense is brought here near
I do surpass the tender lover’s fear
Before the time in which I am I tremble
In which I am to see your lovely heart
Yours is mine as I am yours, we together assemble
To crystallize these words and renew emotion
As you speak, my spirits put in motion
Before the time in which I am I tremble
In the sea of fullness, richness, brightness
We live. Given as gifts on days of birth
My being is. With you my body helpless
Wants to fall apart as towers of filth
For I am clean before you like skies of heaven
‘cause my spirit, my soul, to you’s ever given.

Thank you, Shakespeare II

Nothing but hill had my own will
In my will they leave the testament alone
Peel the skin ‘till the lovely bone
Stone to death ‘till the corpse still

And lay down ‘till dawn down
And up the willing crown.

Everything is Robert but no one is Rob
The thieves of Cologne will rob
The columns of their lie with deceased
In their last moments, will to live increased

And lean towards the mass
The word to come, to pass,

Things vary weary, up to the hill dreamy
Not that why should I have all the meaning
Less than by the river, shot gleaning
Through the sky sun in the snow creamy

Shaken spear, pierce and steer,
Bought a book and illuminated clear
With all my soul I thank you, Shakespeare.

Voice

I have been waiting you to call
I needed that electric sound to bring back comfort to my soul
But the room remains silent.
I have been waiting you to call
Starring at your words floating within these walls, words that you
spoke with no reason, so gentle, for they are carved in my memory
like letters in stone.
I have been waiting you to call
Even your face blur, and name sometimes hardly remembered, I can
still hear your voice, the only voice I can hear.
I have been waiting you to call
Give my body reason to move, with your thoughts inside my mind, I
will make sorrow lost, as we dance to the Sun, leaving these shores,
wiling and forgetting.
I have been waiting you to call
But the room remains silent, my heart beats steady the rhythm of
silence, and face slowly fading in the mirror.
I have been waiting you to call
As the cold veritable breeze rushed into room, inhaling, freezing, and
knowing that I have been waiting you to call,
And that you never will.

Translated from Serbian by author

Рубрике

ДОНАЦИЈЕ

Претплатите се и дарујте независни часописи Људи говоре, да бисмо трајали заједно

даље

Људи говоре је српски загранични часопис за књижевност и културу који излази у Торонту од 2008.године. Поред књижевности и уметности, бави се свим областима које чине културу српског народа.

У часопису је петнаестак рубрика и свака почиње са по једном репродукцијом слика уметника о коме се пише у том броју. Излази 4 пута годишње на 150 страна, а некада и као двоброј на 300 страна.

Циљ му је да повеже српске писце и читаоце ма где они живели. Његова основна уређивачка начела су: естетско, етичко и духовно јединство.

Уредништво

Мило Ломпар
главни и одговорни уредник
(Београд, Србија)

Владимир Димитријевић
оперативни уредник за матичне земље
(Чачак, Србија)

Радомир Батуран
оперативни уредник за дијаспору
(Торонто, Канада)

Александар Петровић
уредник за културу
(Београд, Србија)

Жељко Продановић
уредник за поезију
(Окланд, Нови Зеланд)

 

Небојша Радић
уредник за језик и писмо
(Кембриџ, Енглеска)

Жељко Родић
уредник за уметност
(Оквил, Канада)

Никол Марковић
уредник енглеске секције и секретар Уредништва
(Торонто, Канада)

Џонатан Лок Харт
уредник енглеске секције
(Торонто, Канада)

Лектори

Душица Ивановић
Торонто

Сања Крстоношић
Торонто

Милана Сувачаров
Београд

Графички дизајн

Антоније Батуран
Лондон

Технички уредник

Радмило Вишњевац
Торонто

Издавач

Часопис "Људи говоре"
The Journal "People Say"

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Toronto ON,
M4C 1X4 Canada

Контакт

Никол Марковић, секретар
т: 416 823 8121


Радомир Батуран, oперативни уредник
т: 416 558 0587


477 Milverton Blvd. Toronto,
On. M4C 1X4, Canada

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