Poems by Dragana EVTIMOVA
Behind the photographs we carry in the pockets of old coats
the memories exist.
Behind them we take notes,
the years make cracks between the lines,
and the explanations stick out
between our small handwriting
and the fear of the time
when we won’t remember those we loved.
Behind the sorrow that looks for a shelter in some children’s palms
Our tiny footprints pile up on the sand.
Behind our shadows.
we draw our own faces
Behind the sunsets
that sort through the memories of sleepy passengers
taking the night carriages,
we count the steps of the passing time.
Behind our sentences in the short stories
we conceive in the long sleepless nights
there lies the abandoned/forsaken paper piled up with words.
There are eyes we cannot forget
even when we’re leaving them.
There is nothing on our right.
Our look is on the left.
Behind our masks
LIMITED USE LIFE
People wall up the space around themselves,
they build walls and fences, they come up with boundaries,
and life is of limited use.
There are days when the old clocks
strike our lives
hung on the walls
above our heads.
There are days
when the pain turns into sorrow,
and the sorrow turns into loneliness.
When the words are emptied,
the silence remains.
There are days
when the old manuscripts
lie in the dust in the libraries.
There are no full stops
among the words of those lines.
There are days
when the noise in our souls
is louder than the silence of the day.
The crowds noise is a clock
that ticks with a limited use
There are lonely eyes
looking for a shelter
and sleepy faces
always sleeping in night trains.
All the side effects
happen in a split-second.
There are days when we’re alone
and our home is distant.
Those are the limited use days.
If it happens for you to doubt your face
you see in the mirror
hung on the entrance door of your home,
before you start lying to yourself
that only you, and nobody else, know the right answers,
try turning on the light in the room
and see if you notice your shadow in it.
And if you accidentally meet another face
in the mirror frame in your home,
find somebody else that looks like you
and start believing that there is somebody the same as You in this world.
And you don’t need to say or do anything anymore.
Everything is already understood and known …
Like a birthmark inherited from a parent …
Sometimes I think about all our clumsy disagreements
in the space of the words,
during the farewells with/when we bid goodbye to the ones we care about…
Sometimes I think that we only share
the flaws of our past
that we’ve left roaming
like a sulhuette of a deaf wanderer
on empty streets…
Sometimes I see that I stare at the mirror in vain…
I’m long gone…
Sometines I don’t want to wait for the night,
because the loneliness steals bits from my life…
Sometimes I can forgive your absence
from all the departures so far,
as long as it doesn’t happen again…
Sometimes I briefly love the memories
that continue in me,
even when they are an absence…
Sometimes I can’t stop loving
every true moment,
because it returns as a boomerang…
Translated from makedonian into english by Elida Melova