Memories of exile

Everybody knows how terribly painful exile is.

Exile is maybe more painful than the road to exile.

Memories from the past help you not to fall apart.

You end up living in the past.

Because the past becomes your only asylum.

The present is misery.

The future? Who knows…..

Many things are unforgivable.

Death? No death is not unforgivable, you can even die in style.

What’s truly unforgivable is a bad movie, a bad book, bad music, that’s unforgivable.




Whenever somebody commits a terrorist attack, or a delict, he is first and foremost aiming at the intelligence of the victim. It’s a way of brainwashing. Having survived these sort of things is already a victory.

The same applies to the logic of the dictators. They hate alliances, because they consider the world their home, and they HATE losing in their own home……



The paradox of the press

We all read the newspapers, but is there anyone there you actually know? NO. So why do you read it? At this stage of globalisation we are all walking radios…… What’s the difference between a journalist and a politician? None. So, before you are brainwashed by another newspaper, think about this. We are all strangers. Spitting hate on each other. Under capitalism and under communism. So, remember, when you get out of your house, and leave your dearest family, don’t forget to put your mask on and get ready for the jungle.

I am silent when I look at you

I am silent when I look at you

My life is a poem

I can not go back

I cannot reread my life

Therefore, the future is my destiny

What am I looking for?

I still don’t know

But poets never know what they are going to write next

As sentences burst out of my mouth like a gulf bursts out of the sea

I never know what I am going to write

But I certainly don’t look back,

Which doesn’t mean I have lost my memory

But many people I have met where terrible books

I am silent when I look at you

I listen

And think: Could I dance with this person?


Our ancestors

The writer has to be alone, to write

Please give me a poem! There is too much noise in this town.

We separate the scars and walk inside them

We think about the marvelous times in Serbia

We trust our grandparents

We realize that love is something cultural

We reach for something new

We long for nature

We don’t think that space and time are distant

We reach out for love /

There is always a way

We think about our ancestors

And maybe we walk backwards


Cry, like eagles cry

Cry, like eagles cry

Dream, like eagles dream

Hell, is not knowing the truth

The night rests upon our sleep

The storm of our dreams

Never lets us sleep

We wake up

And scream

Faithfulness is an empty word

An abyss of time reminds us

That we are here to complete

The mission of our ancestors

That we are here to endure

The pain

That life is worthless

Without pain

We took the blows

And like a boxer

We still stand

That’s life

That’s weathering the storm

It’s time to stop

We are not here anymore

We are the precious beings that God once thought of




My love

I see in your eyes that your lips are blossoming

You left me behind

Like a dog

And this dog is suffering

Because in the earth, and in the sky, and beyond that

There is no space for us two

There is no time for us two

There is no story of us two

And this untold story

Releases in me

The immediate pain

That untold stories so often produce