PM AUG 23 PDF

Prof. Dr. NEDŽAD IBRAHIMOVIĆ-Bosnia and Herzegovina BABYLON, 1 By delving into the boundaries of language the reason gets bumps. (L. Wittgenstein) I wish I didn't read. I wish I walked through the city like through a spring forest. Not reading the inscriptions on the shops, the glittering commercials and illiterate advertisements, communal notices, texts on stores, names and surnames on lawyers' offices and notaries' entrance doors, billboards, discounts, names of bakeries and meat boutiques, I wish didn't even read obituaries anymore. 101

I wish I was a dog that doesn’t get off the leash and that in this chaos I only rest my tongue. ©® Nedžad Ibrahimović BABYLON, 2 “Welcome children! Eat, and after that you can come in and I will give you cake! ” The Brothers Grimm A teenager who starts smoking. I was writing in the hope of getting laid, and then I broke into this house suddenly And here I am now. Locked. The language is now my shirt and my tail, my shoes and my gloves. I don’t know when there will be enough of it, and when too much, for all that I would like to say. Mine... Mine? These words are my legcuffs and handcuffs lurking after my head to eat it with delight. the language is now both my father and my mother, and my mother's mother and my mother's father, and, worst of all, my language is also Her language. Thus, my father and mother and Her father and mother. I am repulsed by this sticky tongue saliva that we share. Everything I say is also said by Her. Everything I write, She has already written, everything I want to say, there she is, and through 102

the barred window she threatens from outside with her skinny finger and grins cynically. I have a premonition, and only premonitions are mine, that – just like a hanged man is killed by his own body, and the cherry-plum in front of the house by its own fruit –one word will kill me, the one that I will not know to be the last one, the strong one, Miljkovićev's one. It will be the key to the sugary door that She will get her hands on, but that word will ultimatley be mine alone. And that is what I am modestly looking forward to. I am a wolf who, for my freedom, gnaws its front paw. The years of captivity are getting harder and faster, and when I get tired and give up, I don't get off the leash anymore. Through the spring forest then the two of us pass as through a city where I no longer read inscriptions on the shops, the glittering commercials and illiterate advertisements, communal notices, texts on stores, names and titles on lawyers' offices and notaries' entrance doors, billboards, discounts, names of bakeries and meat boutiques, nor obituaries do I read anymore. None but mine own. The old ones, before I fell into Her house. ©® Nedžad Ibrahimović Nedžad Ibrahimović, Was born in 1958 in Tuzla. Completed postgraduate studies in literature at the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences in Zagreb. PhD at the Faculty of Philosophy in Tuzla in the field of literature of Bosnia and Herzegovina. He graduated from the Media 103

Academy in Hilversum (Netherlands). Published books of literary and film studies and essays: Essay Refraction (1989), Reader at the Crossroads (2001), On Poetry, Birds and Other Deceptions, American Lectures (2011), Bosnian Film Narratives, Documents on Disintegration (2012). Novels: Encapsulated Bodies (3rd edition 2014), House of Theodore K (2021) and Inkpsulated Souls (2022). Books of poetry: A Small History of Death and Writing (2019), Family and Other Terrible Poems (2021), Love and Other Terrible Poems (2022). He made short documentaries: Full Moon over Bosnia (Volle maan boven Bosnië) Netherlands, 1997, \"Against the Current\" (\"Tegen de stroom\", Netherlands, Bosnia and Herzegovina, 1997), Nuh's/Noeva's Story, RTVBiH 2007. 2006-2007, as a Fulbright professor, he taught South Slavic film and South Slavic literature in exile in the United States at the University of Washington (Seattle). In the period from 2016-2019 he was president of the P.E.N. Center of BiH. 104

SERBIA Dr. ANA STJELJA-Serbia WHISPER OF THE UNIVERSE And there was a man. And there was an unfathomable mind. Directed gaze Towards space, incomprehensible to us Which time has not yet known Whose sacred secret is hidden by Оbelisks and totems Erected long ago in the glory of the Creator, In the womb of the Mother Earth There lived a man. Hey you, unique man Superior in mind, Who always rushed to the future Flocked to some new age, Plunged into the ocean of new ideas Then flew away on the wings of a dove Into some new worlds and dimensions, Without understanding you Nor the people of your time 105

And neither will the people of the future. You made lightning from pure light In spheres you breathed rhythm and sound And they created music back then Spiritual symphonies And divine melodies, Like “Ave Maria”, So solemn and melodious. You had a spark in your heart That could ignite the whole Universe With your Love and Beauty You made the ground tremble violently Like the pulsing of your heart That once was beating on the right side. While your mind was walking The streets of New York Your soul wandered Stone ruins of Lika. They were both traveling on a boat Made of mercy and philanthropy. Your spirit is the ardent touch of the Sun Which never sleeps And never dies. Your thought pulsates To the rhythm of the planets And while the big clock On the wall of the Universe counts down: Three, six, nine There is silence everywhere Because everyone listens to that myth But no one will know that thread That links your mind With these mysterious numbers. In the dead of night, When lonely, you would be visited by Moonlight and stars From distant constellations You would listen carefully The gentle voice of the Universe How it calls you and reaches out to you 106

Hands of opaque veils Caressing your cheeks, Like a foremother Quenching thirst of your heart, Like a prayer. The Moirai announced you They wove your garment, thread by thread The Vestals guarded the fire just for you Which Prometheus stole a long time ago. And that flame is you, That flame is the whole human race Whom you wanted to light up the sky, And to enlighten their minds. Your walk left a mark on the ground Your voice still rings out Dark tunnels Of the unfathomable Universe. Your eyes are the window To distant, unknown worlds Whoever opens will see Who sees will know. Your mind is unattainable And what is hidden in it Is deep in the ground Buried chest Full of treasure Of this world and the other And the more we dig in the ground We are further and further away From that chest And the more we look at the sky We see less and less Symbols drawn on the clouds And we are further away From you, and your genius mind. You are as far away as that Universe To your mental strength Even the Titans can do nothing. You, the poet of distant worlds! Your spaceship is science In which you bravely sailed into this world And in which you proudly 107

set sail from the world. Your sea moves towards the horizon With the frequency of your mind The waves of that sea are timeless teachings Which ancient civilizations left us Carved in stone Carved on old wood Drawn in the depths of the cave of Eternity. Eternity... Hey you, the herald of the new age! Where your ashes are scattered Where does your free mind roam? Throw the pebles! Maybe someone will see them And follow that trail, Start the turbine of humanity For good to overcome evil The way you wanted. Beware of the winds On one of your mountains of pure light From which you watch us Whole century. With the power of your thought Send a life belt for our souls Save us from the abyss we fell into While chasing our own ego We didn’t even see an obstacle in the way Nor thickened roots Which twisted like a snake under our feet. Whenever we ran, it would trip us As we have not acquired enough knowledge, And knowledge is power The one you kept in the pocket Of your elegant suit. Dodols invoked you after all In the days of drought Of our impoverished mind And crippled feelings. They invoked you through the song, In an ecstatic dance 108

They were falling to the ground, On the primeval soil From which you were raised. Maybe clouds brought you down Through the rain, like a drop Until the water was poured out And started falling down Niagara Falls. Do you hear, lonely man How the Universe cries Every tear is a word Who writes it down Will understand The message of the Universe itself The soul particles will scatter into thousands Even smaller, Until they become a moment And go to infinity. Yet, a Serbian mother gave birth to you Fed you with her kindness, She shaped you like clay, With her work-weary hands Until she sculped you And into your noble heart Planted one seed Which, when sprouts, Will conquer the world. Reveal to us the secret of immortality! You, humble man, A great mind. Tell us What is ether If not a son of light Born through the womb of blackness? Because black is the true face of light. Tell us Isn’t ether after all Just a whisper of the Universe? ©® Ana Stjelja 109

Ana Stjelja (1982, Belgrade, Serbia). In 2012 she obtained her PhD (on the life and work of the Serbian woman writer Jelena J. Dimitrijević). She is a poet, writer, translator, journalist, researcher and editor. She published more than 30 books of different literary genres. She is also a graphic designer and digital artist. In 2018 she established the Association Alia Mundi for promoting cultural diversity. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, the Association of Literary Translators of Serbia, the Association of Journalists of Serbia and the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ). She is also a member of the Europeana Pro, CIESART (Spain) and UMEA (Portugal). 110

DANIJELA TRAJKOVIĆ-Serbia ARTIST He is an artist of vegetables Planning to plant the woman He has never met A simple genius Preparing golden papanași Enjoying no neighbors Watching no Eurovision He uses not many ingredients when talks His words are delicious, juicy mixture His silence bitter Depending what is on the daily menu He serves. ©® Danijela Trajković 111

R.I.P. LOVE! She loves him He wants her to let him go She lets him Rest in peace. ©® Danijela Trajković Danijela Trajković (eng. Danielle Traykovich) is a Serbian poet, short story writer, translator and reviewer. She holds an MA in English language and literature from the University of Prishtina, Faculty of Philosophy in Kosovska Mitrovica, Serbia. She has published two books: 22 Wagons (an anthology of selected and translated contemporary Anglophone poetry into Serbian) by Academy of Arts, Knjaževac, Serbia, 2018, and While Life Sees a Dream (book of poetry), Arte, Belgrade, 2023. Her works (translated into more than 15 languages) appeared in newspapers, journals, anthologies worldwide. Danijela Trajković is the editor-in-chief of A Too Powerful Word, an online magazine. 112

CROATIA TUGOMIR MATIĆ-Croatia YOUR INFINITE GLORY You were the sun coming with the summer just like it was said like it was written no autumn nor winter did not diminish Your shine You brought the smile of faraway kingdoms just like it was said like it was written no irony nor arrogance did not diminish Your shine Like a flower opening its petals that nobody can notice 113

You opened the path to yourself and stole my heart forever. ©® Tugomir Matić Translated by Lučka Koščak GOD IS DREAMING A TERRIBLE DREAM The creator ate something heavy for dinner, fell asleep, and now is spinning restless on his timeless bed. And now is having a terrible dream, ships in dirty harbors, drunkards in smelly taverns, hungry dogs barking at passers-by, grumpy retired generals, decrepit ladies and their hapless companions. And you’re also in that dream, a sad man, who can’t see and know himself, who would be glad to make someone happy. But you can’t move as you’re missing strength. You can just unfortunately wait finally for God to wake up and cinema screen to show: THE END ©® Tugomir Matić Translated by Zlatan Demirović 114

Tugomir Matić was born 1957 in Zageb, Croatia. He spent a large part of his life in Sarajevo, where started publishing in literary periodicals in the late 1970s. Since 1997 has been living in small town Racisce on the island of Korcula. To date he has published books of poems: “Christmas in Sarajevo”, “Between Heaven and Earth”, “Time of Silence”, “Kartolina”, “Pay Attention to Detail”, “I Didn't Build a House” and “Dog's Life”. He has also published books of short stories: “Sarajevo Beer and Scandinavian Nights” as well as the book “Jazz for the Forgotten Uncle”. In preparation for the press are also books of poems “Where Have All The Fishes Gone”, “A Whirlwind’s Dance” “Bridge of Dreams” as well as a selection of poems for a publisher in the Czech Republic. 115

MARINA ŠUR PUHLOVSKI-Croatia WE ARE NOT THE NAMES I forget nouns I come to the market And I don't know how to say cauliflower. This – I point my finger Onto the white lumpy Surrounded by solid greenery Which I am about to prepare Put it on breadcrumbs Because that is how they love it the most My 'CostMates' But I don\"t forget what they love I still know all the verbs All actions States and Happenings All that we are Since we are not the names And then there is dying Behold the wonders- We just are. ©® Marina Šur Puhlovski Translated by Zlatan Demirović 116

MEETING IN THE STARS In the night meadow On motionless I found the stars from the ship. There is no more ship There is no sailing Not dear one Not even love But the stars are still here. The same at the sea and in the meadow. And with them everything is here And the sea And sailing And loved one And the love that disappeared. And now in the night On a meadow The present me I used to be too We meet In the stars from the ship In joy. ©® Marina Šur Puhlovski Translated by Zlatan Demirović Marina Šur Puhlovski is a Croatian writer. Her first novel, Trojanska kobila (The Trojan Mare), was published in1991. Before 1991, however, she had nine books written, which she failed to publish because she refused to fit into the then-highly praised “postmodernist” generation: she pursued her own literary voice, initially unappreciated. Nevertheless, in the following twenty years, Marina successfully published twenty odd titles of various genres, short stories, poems, essays, travel books, and eight novels. Her novel Divljakuša (Wild Woman) won a prize for Best Unpublished Novel of the Year in 2018, and soon became a literary bestseller. Her latest novel is Virus, potres, brak (Virus, Earthquake, Marriage. 2022). 117

CZECH REPUBLIC MIRCEA DAN DUTA-Czech Republic YOU DIDN’ DIE II-YOU DIDN’T DIE BY KOSHRO HASHEMI (In Your Memory) My name is koshro hashemi, i.t. engineer from teheran, and you, my beloved yasmina sinai were my fiancé. you disappeared that day and since i´ve never seen you again. unofficial reports claimed you took part, with an incredible courage, in a great manifestation in support of Iranian women´s rights and that you were arrested the same day by the special elite troops, the guardians of the revolution. No news from you since, but later unofficial reports claimed a few tens of participants in the manifestation were raped, brutalized, and killed in the headquarters of the teheran police. i repeatedly asked for the corpse of my fiancée, but no answer at all from the officials. I needed some long weeks to understand the truth, but now i am aware of it. and i also know i am not the only one to whom his truth was revealed. therefore, i felt i had to write down the following words which little by little developed into the first and the last poem i wrote in my live. 118

you didn't die only your late blood diluted into sap unfairly lost through the cracks towards nowhere carved by drought so the fir tree grew up spreading its roots through the body of the old morning I cuddled your trunk I fondled your branches I kissed your cones and while kneeling I melted into fog tears and I dug in vain under your shade but it was only in the moment when the gentle murmur of your green needles quickly raising and covering the whole tree started its mysterious duet with the susurrus of the wind that I realized I had never seen your hair: our religion bans this kind of familiarity before the wedding I must say I was happy with respecting traditions conventions, and rules I was proud to be a good citizen and an exemplary believer and it is just against all this that you chose to protest 119

to me your reasons were as unknown as the color and form of your hair and as ununderstandable as the concert of your needles sensually scratching, impaling, and kissing the immaterial breasts of this morning’s air nevertheless something was clear though your hair that I had never seen was as much alive as the green needles and as the fir tree its branches they covered and for sure much more alive than the education I was given and that banned me to see it before the wedding and you to show to the world its beauty and thus to prove its fir tree covering power more alive than myself and as much alive as you for, if your hair is alive you can’t be dead you didn't die ©® Mircea Dan Duta Translated by Judit Antal 120

PLAYING WHIST there's a shortage of beds we are lying each in one's own bed but no one sleeps who knows they can steal your bed during your sleep we look at each other eye-ringed shadows god who's the thief . there are two of us lying in each bed the eyes broke the eyebrows and escaped them now they are running after another through the air and suspect each other you left eye you are trying to steal my right half of the bed . there are three of us lying in each bed the other two of them keep stalking me if i blink i'm lost they are only waiting for my blink in order to steal my 33 percent of the bed . there are four of us lying in each bed there's no one to turn off the light fog sinusoids appeared out of nowhere two unfriended mountains finally made up melted off and now are flowing together 121

still unable to deliver the anticlinal ships sink in the sand . i humbly raise my warm thanks towards thou for thou allowed me to die in a bed ©® Mircea Dan Duta Translated by Judit Antal Mircea Dan Duta Poet, film scientist, translator, author of Czech expression (*27.05.1967, Bucharest)., editor, producer & moderator of cultural eventsand programs in the Czech Republic, Slovak Republic and Romania. Awarded Literary Awards in the Cyech Republic, India, Slovak Republik Poetry books: Landscapes, Flights and Dictations, Tin quotes, inferiority complexes and human rights (2014/2015, Petr Štengl Editions, Prague), Plíz sujčov jor mobajl foun senťu / Pliiz suiciof ior mobail faun senchiu (Next Page Editions, Bucharest, 2020, bilingual Czech-Romanian anthology). Also active in the field of scientific work (film and literary critic and history): Translated in more than 20 countries Translator: Czech/Slovak < -- > Romanian; Polish, Bulgarian -> Romanian English, French < -- > Romanian Czech < -- > English, French. 122

JAROMÍR TYPLT-Czech Republic A PARADE Lest I crack up on them for good once a day they find for me a minor stiffening I am allowed to rush to the window at a predetermined hour when no-one else may look out The hour shifts around depending on the light so that particularly the white colour stands out in sharp contrast a spectacle perfectly calculated To each and every one of them happens something unique but then the window is forbidden to me perhaps the game does feature something innate Perhaps I really only came into this world to observe in wonder once a day the vertiginous rotationality in the slowest ride possible The tall white cylinder just rolls past me hiding nothing as through nothing around and about in it one empty spot overlaps with another 123

With this memory in mind I manage to overcome it before the postcard rack approaches me again like the certainty that I still can see in all directions The former postcard rack you could not hang pictures of the future on me my varnish is old ©® Jaromír Typlt Translated by David Vichnar Jaromír Typlt (1973) belongs to the generation of Czech poets who began publishing in the 1990s. At that time, he was also experimenting with the overlap of poetry into visual art or music and sound, which he developed especially in collaboration with composer Michal Rataj (Scribbles project, since 2009). He is also an art theorist with a focus on outsider art. In September 2022, he was the founder of the Art brut Prague gallery, which he runs as a curator. Poems from his most recent books, Press (2007) and For a Long Time (2016), have been published in book form and in German and Romanian translation. 124

SLOVAKIA OLGA GLUSTKOVA-Slovakia BODY / FAMILY / CONTEXT because at grandfather's / vast taiga / hunting man-eating beasts / everything went through the hallway of his house stationary jay / squirrel / crow deer head / on furniture exposed muskrat weasel and otter / tufts of fur / glass gaze / anxiety another time when playing in the closet / rabbit and fox furs under our feet / in the corner of the attic scattered roe deer skulls / antlers 125

because at grandfather's / they confronted us with life since we were little / in their own strange way ©® Olga Glustikova LINEAGE / LICHEN / MONOCULTURE my father's workbook: in October we descend into the valleys / we travel through the shallows swamps marshes and soaked meadows / through their home names / we recognize local dialect / only language subdues this region enough / we say that we speak in our own way / we accumulate words lose them and something intensifies in us forests spruces monocultures / we in their oxygen texts / contexts / water cycle tied us to the country / us writers translators of the north / lichens / sandstones and our birth houses have stood out / since forever from the earth / which eats its own poets ©® Olga Glustikova Translared by M. Grmanová, M. Železník Olga Glustikova (b. 1987, Slovakia, Central Europe) is a slovak poet, publicist and media specialist. Currently working on the manuscript of the third poetry collection called Myths of the North (Skalna ruza, 2023). Her poems and publicistic texts were published online, in magazines in Slovakia, Czech Republic, Romania, Hungary, Peru, Chile and Serbia and published in numerous anthologies. She is working as a media specialist for big construction and industrial companies. 126

ALBANIA MEHMET RREMA-Albania ENDLESS BEAUTY I melt today In the infinity of the blue sky Without any clouds I want to be a grain of wheat in the infinite barn of nature I wanted to sing An iso or a song on the tip of the arm... It is morning Endless beauty... ©®Mehmet Rrema STOP THE WAR 127

In the woods acorns stand upright in front of the corpses in this crazy war by crazy people playing with their madness In autumn yellowed leaves maybe they will not cover the black soil but corpses of fallen soldiers War… stop the war you who set the world on fire than one day this fire will burn you too. Stop, war! ©®Mehmet Rrema Mehmet Rrema, was born in the city of Kruja, Albania. He graduated in veterinary medicine at the State University of Tirana. He worked as a veterinarian for a long time, then he emigrated abroad. He writes poetry and prose. Among the published books is The Burnt File-novel. 128

He has published poetry: Suitcases of hope, Your tears burned that day, How love was lost, Let's take a bow, A smile is given, and others ready for publication. He participated in the Anthology of modern poets in Albania Habere, Arten Italy Anthology of contemporary poets – Italy, The voice of poets in the world - Mexico, etc 129

IRMA KURTI-Albania WITH A CHILD’S EYES I want to see the world with a child’s eyes almond-shaped, clear, limpid, and innocent: a meadow where people and flowers grow, where hunger, poverty, and evil are absent. I want to see the world with a child’s eyes, feel caressed by my dreams’ incantation, be able to touch the horizon with one hand and reach the stars using only a ladder. I don’t want to see the world with my own eyes. They’ve seen too much, they see the universe behind a thick permanent haze. Immersed in tears that never dry. ©® Irma Kurti 130

LIFE ON A THREAD Our life is hanging on a thread, but we don’t realize it at all. We argue with one another and remain prisoners of rancor. We waste days doing nothing. With meaningless words we fill the hours. Those connect us like spider webs with the minutiae of others’ lives. We think time is unlimited, the world or life is infinite. In an instant, we see the thread vibrating. It is so thin, ready to break. Then, we want to change all, fall in love with the moment, wake up our forgotten loves, erase our old resentments. But the thread is cut; it’s too late . . . ©® Irma Kurti 131

Irma Kurti is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. Irma Kurti has published 27 books in Albanian, 22 in Italian, 15 in English and two in French. She has also translated 16 poetry collections by different authors. The books written by her have been translated and published in 14 countries. 132

FRANCE CAROLINE LAURENT TURUNC-France THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN FROM THE ASH HEAP! O most beautiful flowers of desire Some rivers fork as they overflow become small rivers divided by untimely overflows. Each one flows into the unknown in separate directions. A very strong wind blows untimely on some hills, no matter how hard you try, no force is enough to stop it. It shortens the waiting time of those waiting at each stop, downloads some at the same stop, and downloads some at different stops. And although some Pains pass, no trace of memory can be erased. Spring comes in the blink of an eye and you can't feel it. 133

It is not said in vain. Love is like the wind, you can't hold it even if you want to... Let it not lower the sky to the ground and turn it into a rose garden, like the flowers you plant in the garden. You can't make a mountain out of ash, just as you can't make a hill out of garbage. Those who make bowls and glasses from old pines break tree branches. The roots of the trees whose branches are broken become thirsty and dry. Just like these trees whose roots are thirsty, your body shrivels with thirst, you lose it quickly, you run out of strength, you get hurt untimely. You collapse like a city that collapses without realizing it, you crumble like cornflakes among the ruins of the city. Your wounds flow like a flood, mingling with the wounds of those who have no one to bind their wounds. Your eyes shining in the sun turn into cloud rain All the Pain settles in the ribs The rivers of blood in the veins freeze. ” All conversations fall into silence Like mulberry, like ney, darkness digests everything. Feelings that do not meet the lack of love fall into a confused love dilemma and cannot find a way out. Like a frosty day, no sun can warm your feet and your heart Thus, you become the subject of small stories, each writer creates new stories by blending their own experiences with yours. 134

The poets of tomorrow, such as Tahir and Zühre, Leyla and Mecnun, tell their readers that your love story has an unrequited end. ©® Caroline Laurent Turunc YOU'RE GONE, I'M GONE! I'm still in a never ending longing Rose winds are slowly fading inside me My warm breath, longing for a drop of water, is breathing like a warm climate with the anger of your absence. The hump of years on my back, the unknown stars in my hair I'm running through the ashes of the river of fire The sky sprinkles cloves on me like a curtain The sun-coloured leaves falling from the branches cling to my skirt. I wish you could fit me in a smile If you would put your hand on my left chest and whisper softly in my ear If you said next time I’d wait for you at the end of the street I first saw you in the third dream Maybe the sun will rise again in the rings of my tired eyes The day does not end, the leaves do not turn into fire and fall. 135

Bloody nightingales wouldn't wait on branches like flames I'm falling like I've been hit now I smell like butterflies from the smell of anger you do not exist The sky is green, the ground is yellow, and the birds wait pensively on the coral branches. ©® Caroline Laurent Turunc Caroline LAURENT Turunç is from Antakya, Turkey, from Arab origin, she is the daughter of a family of nine children. She has a sociology degree and has written over 1500 poems since 2013, received many certificates from abroad, and participated in nearly 60 local and foreign anthologies. Her poems are still published in many international journals and websites. She is writing a novel that she is about to finish. She published two collections of poems, \"Between the Orient and the North\" and \"Desert Lily\". She came second among 2575 poets from each country at the world literature championship held in Romania. She won an award at the eighth spring poetry festival held in the town of Yan, China, causing it to be selected for the \"World Poet Literary Museum\" commissioned by the Silk Road Cultural Center of Northwest University of China. Currently lives in Paris, France. 136

SPAIN JOAN JOSEP BARCELÓ-Spain UNDER YOUR SHADOW I write your name in each breath of dawn and my bleeding heart becomes transparent a trembling gloomy anguish makes me reach for the impossible where destiny does not die yet and I can be whatever I want breaking into shreds of soul through the silence that covers the morning auras of dew under your shadow the moon shines in full brilliance and I fall asleep in your womb in an eternal instant to feel a divine song of angels in a scented night in the gardens of youth 137

far away the abysses embrace the world when the rumours of the wind steal the blood from our hearts like a miracle of light on the waves of the sea I write your name in each tear of dawn and my loving heart becomes transparent ©® Joan Josep Barceló I WOULD LIKE TO BE… left in a fear chained to the shadow I would like time to erase the mediocrities between the hands of a raging fire I would like thousands of flowers to bloom in winter before the beautiful eyes of an eternal dawn I would like the trees to wake up strong in autumn sinking its roots into a blue sky I would like the ants to sing like the birds of the forest every morning on rainy days I would like the sea to invade my whole body to fill my soul with immense happiness I would like the fields to dress in thousand colours talking to the stars with whispers of love left in a fear chained to the shadow I would like to be… time… fire… winter… dawn I would like to be… autumn… the blue sky… a bird… the rain I would like to be… the sea… happiness… the field… a star I would like to be... a fear chained to the light ©® Joan Josep Barceló 138

Joan Josep Barceló i Bauçà (Palma de Mallorca - Spain, 1953). He studied literature and science at the University of Barcelona, the Balearic Islands, Madrid and London. He has explored various fields of culture, including literature, thought and the arts, being the author of numerous books of poetry in Catalan and Italian, and having received important international awards and recognitions. He is a versatile artist-poet characterized by a surreal and abstract style, with references to a revolutionary concept that delves into philosophical and scientific criteria. 139

ITALY FABIO PETRILLI-Italy BREATH For me you are breath You are the essence that nourishes my soul daily. I come to you without wearing masks, without having to act! You like a good mother welcome me into your loving arms and I feel protected as I learn to love. For me you are the breath of life that gets confused in this deafening silence and vibrates while emanating an enchanting melody. ©® Fabio Petrilli-Italy 140

SILENCE A plunge into silence between past memories. I search in memory voices and thoughts, noisy. I stop thinking, I swim in silence: truths come. I still take refuge in you unquestionable judge of this world beaten by time. Man turns out to be fragile. ©® Fabio Petrilli-Italy FABIO PETRILLI (Foggia - Italia, 2000). Attualmente studia all'Università del Molise, a Campobasso, dove ha intrapreso la Facoltà di Lettere e Beni Culturali. Ha una passione ardente per le discipline umanistiche, la Letteratura italiana e latina, iniziando a scrivere nel 2020. Fabio Petrilli ci appare come un giovane poeta rivelazione con una poesia per approfondire. Le sue poesie sono state tradotte in francese dalla poetessa Irène Duboeuf e in spagnolo, catalano e inglese dal poeta Joan Josep Barcelo. 141

ANTONIETTA MICALI-Italy SUMMER NIGHT The moon peeks over the sea light up dreams. They light up in the sky the lights in the dark night. The waves move with delicate lightness. Sitting by the sea I let myself be caressed by the breeze. You are a thought of love on a summer night. ©® Antonietta Micali-Italy 142

SUMMER RAIN Rains, the air smells of flowers and salt. I observe the sky grey, the wet asphalt. Where are the colors that gladden the heart? The red of poppies, the yellow of the scorching sun, the blue of the sky and the sea? And yet…they say, summer is coming! ©® Antonietta Micali-Italy ANTONIETTA MICALI (Torregrotta (Me). Italy). She graduated in Modern Literature at the \"La Sapienza\" University of Rome, Master in Cultural Journalism and Communication. She is engaged on the socio-cultural side writing for cultural magazines and online newspapers, considering writing an inner journey. She has published, together with many authors, various poetic texts in anthologies and literary magazines in Italy and abroad: “Dedalo e Icaro”, “Mentre eravamo altrove…”, “Un ballo alla vita “Il vento scompiglia i pensieri”. 143

ELISA MASCIA-Italy ETERNAL MOON IN HEAVEN The princely dress he wore with extraordinary elegance, the hair wrapped in an accurate hairstyle that frames a face with soft features. It has reached the sky to grab the moon, all in his hands, finally and the dream comes true. You can take it as a gift to your beloved promised prince! Hope that such goodies welcomed is, in understanding the immense effort open your heart to live together the fantastic longing and utopian thought which unfolds like in a movie before your eyes. Forced by unfavorable negative events bring the moon back to heaven, miserable woman! In its eternal place, for everyone, to be the dream of impossible lovers. They can only caress it with their eyes, with the mind to turn poetic thoughts that the soul dictates and in rivers of words express what in reality 144

it will never come true. Moon dream of us down here, up in the sky your dominant location. And so, he placed it there woman in elegant princely dress. ©® Elisa Mascia THEY ARE ANGELS There are special people in the world in taking care of your brother even in the period when for others it is a burden for them it is light weight because they have wings here on Earth the heart is already flying in solitude they leave no one it is a mission to save someone ready to offer their love. Now they are called to a great test and without hesitation they made the choice difficult to operate, society torn apart and green meadows are no longer recognized fill those of simplicity with flowers that have always spread in the air the true aroma of life and profuse commitment to spread serenity to the center of the Earth. Angels are doctors and nurses which also help to relive yesterday projected into today of great pain that will only be saved in a better future ©® Elisa Mascia 145

ELISA MASCIA (Santa Croce di Magliano. Italy). Retired teacher. She has obtained various national and international poetry awards and recognitions. She participates in multiple international and commemorative and themed events. In 2019 published \"The Grater of the Moon\" (L'inedito Letterario) and a Silloge of 10 unpublished poems inspired by 10 paintings by Erminio Girardo. She translated Nilavro Nill Shoovro and Asoke Kumar Mitra from English into Italian. Since 2020 she is registered with WikiPoesia and Poetas del Mundo. 146

PORTUGAL Dr. MARIA DO SAMEIRO BARROSO-Portugal GREEN FAMILY I want to create my family with the sounds of the Nature the hands of the wind, the words of Peace, the crystalline waters and the pristine purity of the blue sky. I grow, building up the cosmic words glittering in the dust, wrapped in the mist of the stars. All my sounds arise from the depths of my soul reaching the bright heavens, looking for the loving birds in the fragrant gardens of the boundless world. ©® Maria do Sameiro Barroso 147

Maria do Sameiro Barroso (Portugal) is a Medical Doctor, a Germanist and a multilingual and awarded poet, translator, essayist, a scholar and researcher in Portuguese and German Literature, Translation Studies and History of Medicine. She has authored over 40 books of poetry and translations, and essays. Her poems are translated into over thirty languages, resulting from her international activities and participation in poetry festivals. 148

SWEDEN JOANNA SVENSSON JOSEFSSON-Sweden WHEN THE STARS SAY GOOD NIGHT When the stars say good night It feel like the future life Will have to wait Until tomorrow But it doesn’t really matter anyhow In the pleasant dreams of the night ‘Cause at night When nature sleeps It really comes to life What Mr future has forseen Prepared and perfected! ©® Joanna Svensson 149

I JUST FEEL I just feel So incredibly happy Just being Yes, just to be! I feel empowered by Such a strong and irresistible feeling That I do not need anything No money – no nothing That becomes a heavy load anyway An ocean of white anemones Do sweep all of my senses Here where I sit on my own private bench Chasing shadows Chasing something that you never really can catch My reality is my reality And if someone speaks ill of me Then that someone speaks ill about itself Because you are Just like a mirror What it sees in others You carry within yourself!! ©® Joanna Svensson Joanna Svensson – Swedish writer, poet and novelist. Have been writing and publishing ever since her early teens. 8 books of poetry, 2 out of 3 large fiction novels . Participates in several international anthologies. A member of the Swedish Author Society and Polish Writers living Abroad. Won 1:st prize in prose at the International Festival of Prose and Poetry in Bucharest in 2019. Very active in cultural and literary society. Lecturer in various topics. Invited to many literary festivals around the world. 150