Wondrous to tell,
I saw a crow in a treetop
– a black silhouette
against a sky of ripe mango flesh.

Wondrous to tell,
I noticed that the crow
from his position
could overlook something
hidden from my sight.

The bus carried me
away from the moment
but the crow remained.

And so did
the wonder.


Eskilstuna 16 February 2018

I intend to build a petty barricade
and announce a rebellion
against Life in all his screwed-up-ness
– the pathetic git.


Eskilstuna 1 November 2017

The daunting placidness
of the cold waters.

The eerie serenity
of the jagged woods.

Like a lone raven
my mind crossed
the expanses.

It flew and flew
but no words
were ever spoken

When it returned
a thousand years
had passed.


Eskilstuna 1 November 2017

The eager-eyed girl from Galicia
flies like Athena’s owl in the dusk
stomping a beat on the pedals
of her aluminum doe.

Hunting the fleeing river,
filling her lungs with the Aurora,
licking salt from the pumping heart
of the moment.

The eager-eyed girl from Galicia
conducts the storm
on the barricades in a rebellion
against Father Time.

Scraping the Earth with her chin
chewing dirt in the darkening hours
finding the splendor
of the last dying moment of the light.


Eskilstuna 30 October 2017

Someone pulled a cord and the summer was flushed away.
Autumn hit like a wet rag in the face.

Still, used tickets, ice cream wrappers and tissues
lay abandoned in the shrubberies.

Still, the trees held anxiously on to their leaves,
while people switched to dark to salute the darkness.

The construction site of truth
was more disorganised than ever
and around it
the days were circling.

Like an endless row of cars;
rear lights glowing in the gloom.


Eskilstuna 31 August 2017

Farewell to Belgrade

Three times I kiss you farewell, Belgrade.

Once for your brimming streets and crumbling houses, your defiant greenery and sooty walls, your buses, trams, monuments, slopes and stairs.

Once for for your busy, beautiful crowds, walkers, drivers, talkers, smokers, drinkers, shouters.

Once for your larger-than-lifeness, your tucked-away brutality, your childish, glorious friendliness and all the promises that circle your skies like a everlastlingly turbulent flock of jackdaws.

Three times I kiss you farewell, Belgrade, wondering ”Will there be a revelation when the final moments are taken from my hands?”


28 april 2014

Three Belgrade Scenes


A man walks with a slim, light brown dog in a leash along Bulevar despota Stefana. When he crosses Vojvode Dobrnjca he notes that he no longer has only one, but two dogs. This one is sturdy and dark brown, but it seems friendly enough so he moves on. After passing Palmoticeva he has three dogs, and after Džordža Vašingtona four – one white and one black. When he reaches the National Theatre he has a whole pack of eager, barking dogs. One by one, the dogs break free from their leashes and start running across the Republic Square, over the ridge, down the bloodsoaked slopes of Belgrade where the houses evaporate and turn into morning mist over fields of flowers growing from the decaying warriors in the soil: Serbs, Illyrians, Romans, Turks, Greeks, Hungarians, Germans, Huns, Goths, Bulgarians, Celts. And the dogs keep running over the brinks of the Danube, the plains of Vojvodina and the hills of Šumadija.


A man drives his Yugo from Zastava up Takovska. It is eight o’clock in the evening but he seems to be all alone. This puzzles him so he steps out of the car. The street is more than thirty meters wide, but the vegetation from the Botanic Garden is creeping at his feet like a green froth. As his unexpected solitude makes him more bewildered than anxious, he steps into car and drives on. Soon enough, he notices that the houses are stepping out into the street without looking, and as the TV building suddenly falls infront of his vehicle he takes a sharp left turn into a street which he doesn’t know and which wasn’t there before. He stops to read the road signs. They say ”A sad princess who spent much time travelling” and ”A weary partisan who loved hearing the cowbells from the valley”. He drives on, goes down ”The duke that hesitated and regretted” and tries to find his way out this maze by following ”A man of many virtues who wrote many stories”. Finally, his Yugo comes to a stop as the front is squashed between two houses who stretch out their balconys to hug. The street signs in the corner says ”A man who lit his pipe and tried to make sense out of it all” and ”A woman who hid among her books”.


A woman walks down Kneza Mihaila and the heels of her shoes are slowly growing higher and higher. When she crosses over to reach Vase Čarapića she overlooks the heads of her countrymen and the roofs of the cars, feeling free and agitated as she walks on. Higher, and higher she goes, and soon she can take whole blocks in one stride. When she reaches The National Assembly, she is already far out into space and all she sees where the bottom of her soles are is a pale blue dot and she has a strange sensation of euphoria that says ”nothing really matters” mixed with a deep sadness that whispers ”there must be a way” and a single tear falls from her cheek into the void of space.


10 april 2014