Arrival he is using as the preparation
Of the future pychodramatic chance.
Imagination is hindering the good old days with its shadow.
The against- will is opening the occasion,
The homeless thoughtfully, satisfied
Reaches and maintains the dependanc, enriches
Harmony with the heat of dirt. Red handed scent of perfume
Neutralized with vodka, taking his clothes off not to crease them.
The jealousy asked him when he had cheated her? Two months ago!
Continuous, permanent betrayal, not concentrated …
Timid, scared, manlike voice in the exclamation mark!
Lust and desire are long-sighted!
Negative because of egoism, from the nirvana of metaphysical lust
Why are you grappling it as a child does to his mother’s skirt!!!

Tatjana Debeljacki

by Tatjana Debeljacki

THE ROOTS ARE CLAIRVOYANT, GRASPING UNTOUCHABLE WISDOM. THAT IS THE WAY IT STARTS, THE SIGN OF TIMES IS DECEIVING. IT IS THE TIME TO SEE THE DROWNED. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE READING? YOU ARE BRINGING AS SMALL AMOUNTS AS YOU LIKE TO. YOUR IMAGE IS STILL GROWING AND CRYING. COMING CLOSER AND GOING AWAY, STRONG WEAKNESS. THE WORLD THAT IS SPREADING BUT DOES NOT BELONG TO ANYONE, GIVE SOMETHING FROM YOURSELF THAT COULD BRING SENSE FROM THE THREAD OF WILL. TRY LOOKING WITH DIFFERENT EYES TO THE LIGHT. EVIL IS DANGEROUS, CONTAGEOUS ILLNESS, MOVE OUT OF THAT EVIL, IT MAKES THE CENTURY LONGER.”GORD-A-DAN” THE TEAR RIVERS ARE NOW MURMURING, THE DOG IS WAILING, YOU ARE GONE. BREAK LOOSE I BEG YOU! AND SLENTLY, THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR, COME TO ATTEND THE FEAST OF PRESERVED EMOTIONS, DAYDREAMS, THE HAPPY MOMENTS! DECENT GIFT, HUNGRY CRAVING IN THE BUNK OF FEATHERS, SILK AS PURE AS THE SNOW, WITH THE FORCE OF SILENCE. FLOWERS OF DANDELLIONS LET’S DANCE FROM AFAR WITH OUR LOOKS, WITH OUR BODIES, LET’S TOUCH WITH PALMS ONLY.

by Tatjana Debeljacki

Someone is breaking the branches?!
From midnight to the dawn,
The forest is trembling inside me.
My trees are innocent,
Thirsty for milk,
Firm hands, and
The scent of effervesce.
I’m drinking my mint tea.
I’m bringing tranquility without aim,
And flowers for the vase.
When I look at it is never the same.
I’m starting to believe in a fertility of miracles.
Is there the flame, which could turn the heavens
Into the ashes?
Are there any hands to pick up my ripe apples?!

We could have done better
If we had believed in the stories about happiness.
We are loosing strength for the new challenges.
The right on free vote is often lacking.
We considered you an ole
Tired dog, dying slowly
Unable to do change anything
To enlive by the power
Of thoughts, crying eyes.
We should have grasped the depths of the night,
Should have heard the rhymes by Boudelaire and Prevert
In the echoes of your voice of warmth.
When visiting exibitions of paintings,
We would admire shadows.
Paris now looks different.
Your silhouette glitters in every light.