Par |2019-02-19T18:10:04+00:00 24 juillet 2012|Catégories : Blog|


As soon as he approa­ched the house

The house step­ped away :

Or it sim­ply froze as a vampire’s chest.

In his four hands he holds three hor­se­shoes.

For an event like this one needs a lot of water and fire


Serving  this rea­li­ty as if they were its small props.

And truth becomes flexible there like a body of a young woman

Who whis­pers “Once more” and the world becomes rene­wed ins­tant­ly

Like a bur­ning beach swi­ped by a wave and then the hot wind rises

Toward the disap­pea­red house, it swishes by, hurls and advances

Until it blows the door open. There is no one there,

Just face­less emp­ti­ness which warns the body not to

Lie down next to death. He sits down


And reco­gnizes eve­ry­thing that never can­not exist :

Wet cur­tains made of chan­nels, cliffs stuf­fed with hot branches,

Milky and mot­tled moun­tains, thick hair of a bag.

He hears the pen­du­lum of an apple and feels the weight

Of a camel trem­bling impas­si­ve­ly alone in a hot desert storm :

Calm down and stay away”- the voice of her eye says

In which gold sparkles inno­cent­ly like eve­ry burnt down saint.

The sword of the cen­tu­ry is approa­ching” – no one is going to say,

but an echo replies — “We shall all be wit­nesses”.

He does not know what, but he believes that some­thing has to arrive.

If there is no arri­val , how did he ever get back home.


Translated from Serbian by Nina Živančević