Sasho Ognenovski (Macedonia)
Sasho Ognenovski, Ph.D (1964) is Macedonian writer, actor, director and scientist. Born and raised in Macedonia he earned his BA in Acting on 1987, being creative in almost hundred roles in his native city Bitola and on the stages in Sofia, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Wroclaw, Grenoble, Belgrade, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Sarajevo, Melbourne, Sydney etc. On 2002 he earned his MA in Communications and in 2017 a Ph.D as well building his career as a scientist and educator too. His creative list includes five poetry books (Avalanche, 1995; The Fruits of Hell, 2014; Desert flower, 2015; Forest, 2018; Changing of the Past,2019), two books of children plays (A Simple Tale, 2001; The Magic Compass, 2011)and two plays for adults (Grief, 2012; Citadel, 2016) and also papers in the field of Communications, Semiotic, Multiculturalism, Theater published in various journals and presented in the conferences around the world. His latest play Citadel was published on English language by Lulu Publishing House from Northern Carolina, USA and his children plays entitled as “Magic Compas” were translated on Serbian language by publishing house “Alma” from Belgrade. Attended in a lot of conferences for Media, Communication and Multiculturalism in Gothenburg, Sofia, London, Oslo, Milano etc. His poetry is translated on Ebglish, Serbian and Arabian language.
UNDER THE WAVES
My choice, my maturity, my suffering,
My simple curiosity,
My exhaled header
And my abandoned home
Are witnesses of the hurricane of the hate
Of the silent sea after the unlucky tempest.
There only skulls down there
Only tissues of forgotten beans,
Only blue inevitable paling
There’s something worse than death down there:
Nobody’s writing for us, for you anymore
Nobody’s talking about them anymore either.
Now and then is nowhere and never.
Dark and hopeless future.
The trains without timetable are rumbling,
The light tempts my look
My speech remains without consonants,
This darkness is not blindness
This darkness is end of the madness
Beginning of despair and recognition.
Day and night change in their order,
The hours are lining like they have to,
Only the heart is beating slowly, unwillingly.
These walls are glass walls,
The air is thicken of the ashes
Who had burnt the fire which doesn’t stop for nights?
I hear the waves in the distant …
Oh, my poor wish …
If the infinity has end,
If the faith has doubt,
Than this is the place.
Here we have only rhetoric with no pathetic,
view without overview
and passion without compassion.
Forest of remembrances,
This day becomes past before it begins,
And I begin to fear that
I have arrived to the wrong address.
The feelings still burn me,
I’m hiding my love as a relic.
Spellbound and useless, I say to myself:
“Where carry me the spirits of my predecessors?”