How long will I trav­el through this body,
how many more white and how many blue des­tinies will I undergo,
how many ban­dages, how much gauze,
how much of the ster­ile God?
How much longer will I go on being wrapped
in shells, in compassion?
My soul yearns to lift like fog,
but cor­ri­dors have memory,
under glass
they have seen me
and are now trans­form­ing me
into the north­ern lights, into crys­tal, into health.
No, noth­ing anatom­i­cal, noth­ing personal
— I do not need a name in heaven -
I want­ed some­thing large, some­thing classical,
I want­ed plaques, I want­ed ele­phants, I want­ed ostrich­es with­out limit.

The spir­it is leav­ing the mirror.
At the bot­tom of my blood sphin­x­es await me.
The sur­round­ing mois­ture offers its ego to me.
The mind comes from the sea,
as damp as madness.
At the bot­tom of the mind eyes await me
and onyx sight.
Beyond the dark mad­ness begins.
Mad­ness? From how many minds,
from how much ice, from how much fire,
from how many seas, from whose skin ?

 

[trans­lat­ed from ser­bian to eng­lish by herself]
 

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