Milica Jeftimijević Lilić (Serbia)

Milica Jeftimijević Lilić (Serbia)
She graduated at the Faculty of Philosophy in Priština, and won a master’s degree in philological sciences at the University of Belgrade. She was a professor at the University of Priština, and editor on Belgrade TV. She has published the following collections of poems, storyes and essays… 29 books.
She is representedin many anthologies and has many literary awards of national importance as international…Her works translated into Russian, English, Italian, German, French, Hungarian,Macedonian, Turkish, Swedish, Polish and Arabic….more than 28 lenguages of world.
She was vice President of the Association of writers of Serbia
Lives in Belgrade since 1999.
in that way the scroll of the language
of my tribe unrolls.
I am a Lord’s scroll,
unrolled by the dark.
The nearer I am to the end
the closer I am to the Rudiments,
I perceive the law given to me
at the moment of my birth:
You will be an enigma to the very end
they whispered to me on the third day.
I did hear that voice
before I got my eyes.
Utter a sound and you will know who you are:
everything is within you,
you have just brought everything,
you will give all you already possess.
Keep following the track,
the scroll reads slowly.
You grow up to decipher
the Holy script of Vincha
dripping from your veins.
You enter the obedience,
the Egypt of the Great Self.
The parchment is made by Heaven,
only the fingers are yours.
The vision is not weakened by the waking,
our eyes are protected by the membrane
against the excessive light.
We slowly take a veil off
layer by layer together with the skin.
Every day we are closer
to the Great Light.
We sacrifice piece by piece of oursleves.
When the last bandage is removed
we ourselves will be
light There.
The last sacrificial ritual
will occur then.
Devoid of the dark
integrated with the One
behind us the print of the first foot
the Sroll in it
looking for the eyes.
“Give me my glasses,”
Fernando Pessoa said
in order to see death better,
although in the cold hospital room
it was visible to the chaplain, nurse and doctor,
who watched over him at the fatal hour
as if he had never meant anything to anyone.
So, with his glasses on,
and calm-eyed he entered eternity
through the duration door he had opened with his poetry.
His undying ironic pomes
mocking the frailties,
remained as a good pledge for the death of the hungry body
that was demanding, restraining, requesting.
And he rose up to infinity
in order to bring back the sound of double meaning:
for everything is pain – soul’s moaning, emptiness,
the cramp of the matter and spirit, which is a poem,
flying off the Creator’s lips, and even when blaspheming
hidden at the bottom of the being, conceived who knows when,
it is an unexpected fruit that wants to live
lured by a glass of the resurrected vicinity.
Thence the poem sets off, its bare life
which will obtain its body
when the poet gives it his soul, mind, image
like the sea presents a shell with the sound
so that deep mysterious noise roars
the fury of fire and the rumble of the Universe
united forever in the hidden pearl
just like in the passion the bodies of ascension
get united, the diptych poem of the Matter
not expressed by words or images
but by a scream of the beauty of frenzy
of the happiness itself equal to the moment of birth or death
out of which a delicate poem flows
the lasting halo, the fresco of the Matter.
The Creator’s habit that for a moment hides us
from baseness of the world and deceptions of ourselves.
Created timeless images with the whole
with the diptych Poem of meaning and music
with the tear on the face of the false History
mocking the death of the travelling poet
who gives birth to soul even when the body dies.
My clairvoyant hands,
as hot as a sorcerer’s hands
set in motion by thought
touch the chosen thing,
it is them that have encountered you.
Seeing better than the eyes
they impeccably guide me,
Logos always appeals to me.
I write down a word or two
and the rainbow gives a flash
fusing two violent waters
aware of the might of the said.
It shoots them through to the bottom
integrated by the force of origins.
Out of the overheated core
sterling flows over
with a deep trail.
I touch letters one by one,
they spread energy with ease.
Receiving it you light up –
you open all doors
to me – a woman.
And you do not know what breaks you:
either the touch of fire or the might of the said
that defeated you at once.
Or the secret of the being from afar
that flashes when fusing with you.
Tranaslated into English by Lazar Macura

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