MILANKA KUZMIC

MILANKA KUZMIC

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When cold hands embrace me

dark nights of another city

a tear rolls from the eye like a stone

and it falls into a tired lap,

at the door of my heart your eyes sparkle,

while in the distance it smells of white krin

tucked in your palm.

A thought of sadness swept my face

and childhood paintings are replaced as canvases,

I wonder,

do swallows salute your tired hands with a song

and whether those cherry wounds gave birth.

Mother, as an oath, I keep your words in my soul

which at the parting they caressed me tenderly?

"Go son, look for happiness on the threshold of someone else's breast,

but remember, whatever door you knock on

you're only one stranger anymore. "

A Morning Morning

There are more frosts out there in their homeland,

where only my thoughts can move

more snowy branches of the old cherry throat,

while the northerner plays a sad tune

the lone sparrow sleeps under the roof.

I pet the windows of another city with my cheek

and I crawl down the streets unknown,

I cover my heart with a veil of silence,

awake my dream village.

I know, one day, the sun will be stronger,

from the fog will rise the dawn,

a new morning will be born, defiantly clothed,

and my soul is embraced by the blistering right hand of my father

while the yard lilac blue smells.

There are tears of heat in her eye

fascinated by the dew of my native morning,

a tear of joy filled with pain,

for this encounter guarded

will find a place in the dust of the old road,

and my palm will rest in my father's.

As I listen to the rhythm of the cherry blossoms

down the plough I will release the steps,

I whisper softly and then yell louder

the most beautiful are the haunted, defiant mornings.

One Time When I Don't Be

She slides down the slope behind her father's house in the fall

gifting an old oak canopy with vibrant colors

in whose shade a lonely bench awaits,

waiting for my poems infused with lyrics

longing and wandering.

My memories and I, in passing, we pass

on the paths of childhood above which his father's words ring

"Once I'm gone."

Like a stone crushed by the burden of years gone by,

a heavy tear down your face is rolling,

waiting for the winter of his life with thoughts

napping clouds I caress.

I'm looking for you dad at sunset as it winds

they find shelter in my hair,

through the song of the nightingale I listen to your words:

"You know your daughter, wherever life takes you

it bears its roots in the heart,

prayers be your salvation

as you humbly kneel in front of the icon of St. Stephen

and John the Baptist,

remembers that this is the land of your ancestors,

don't let it weed into the weeds,

I leave it to you to guard it

and then when I'm gone. "

MILANKA KUZMIC

MILANKA KUZMIC. She was born in 1977 in Doboj, where she still lives. She has been writing songs since she was 12 years old. Until now, she has published her works in the journal of the Secondary School of Economics (1996), as well as on the pages of the literary club "Jovan Ducic" from Doboj. Her poems have been published in the following collections: "Echoes of Good Words" electronic collection, "Stories and Poems 2017" organized by Asoglas, "Ram Sutton" organized by the National Library Vuk Karadzic Veliko Gradište, "Voices of Melpomena", collection "Serbian Power and consolation ”and many others. She also participated in the literary competition "Vidakovic Days of Culture Rudo 2017" where she won the first prize, and in the competition of native poetry where she won the third prize. He was also the recipient of the second prize at the competition of the literary club "Jovan Ducic" Doboj of "Serbian Golgotha of the 20th Century", as well as awards in Italy. Last year, she also published her first book, a collection of poetry, "Sadness in the Drop of Dew." By profession, she is a professor of classroom teaching, employed at the elementary school "Sveti Sava" Doboj.