Selection of poetry by Natasha Sadzoska





Yellow leaves on your skin
Pulled pores of some impalpable silence
Cracked lips
And fervid valley of thoughts and nipples
I say, are you alone
Or time flows away standing still pretty distant from the conventional clock
But I hear on the pale layers drops slipping out
Secretion, tears, wine
Yet, it is not the first time nor is once
But nonce, a perpetual returning back
As you close your eyes facing the choice you do not want to take
As this time comes by, this autumn
On your skin
In an eruption of inconvenient improper indecent spaces

Edited by Sinead McMorrow


Doll on strings

Walking down the blacktop
While wild rabbits are screaming in boiling water
And at each step I take I inhale blood

Fragile leaves in a Japanese garden are caressing my lips
While I am laying down in the gush of blood
Thousands of bewildered flowers are flowing in my hair
You and I
Tokyo and Home to go
Incalculable steps of the Flesh
And again those animals are screaming as if they were the forgotten pot of boiling water
And I wash your feet so you can lie down underneath my skin
To become a city like any other city that we walked
And we did not know
And we did not know each other
And we did not know
When all those energies were fermenting in us as in bewildered rabbits
slaughtered but alive in the vertiginous water
tongues of dead kites to tell us to tell you
I am here
I follow you from each airport pathway and I know when I hear your name
It is music with unknown rhythm
And nobody knows that music
But I tremble from your gaze and I lost my voice when you came to me
And my skin was becoming darker after each bewildered step towards my chests
Growing nipples burning lips in winter
I knew we were one same city one same shadow one same rain same skin
And the night before I met you I was crying like a child because all crazy plans crashed down
And before you came in the Japanese garden
In me I could hear screaming all the slaughtered animals
And I was growing shamelessly mute
With open legs underneath you
As a layer of fertile wheat in your overwhelming whispering
Humble and perverted
You arise above the eradicated overcoats of the purple passion

Edited by Sinead McMorrow


Raw meat

I close the venetian blinds
And the closet full with socks so sad miserable and weak
Reflections of this and each and every city
Where we are not but we could
We could, but in this world there should be a balance
Blood and vein that explode
And all those violins should promise peace
And you will take a bow
And your head will bend down
As if you were sucking blood from a finger
As if you were soaking up
As if you were pulling out a nail from alive meat

Edited by Sinead McMorrow


One same liminal city

Something begin to grow and beat
Unclear and innocent
While we were drinking wine with strange girls
I could hear you smiling in the rhythm of an African candombe
When they serve you with a glass of wine
I weave myself around one moment imprisoned in confused kernels
I spit seeds
I stay awake at every dawn to feel your beats
How can one fear to grasp the night and then to throw it away?
The violet flowers with morning dew and the mad recalcitrance were not enough?
Leave I cannot
I come to you without knowing if this path has an end
But I know wild berries are flowing in my blood
And I weave a spider’s nest with black spit
A layer of tiny boats
is your promise to me
when you are not here
you are present as never
and your silence is hurting
louder than a cup of black tea breaking through the white wall
in my kernels a fish bone valves interstices in between my teeth
black sperm on someone else high heels
night porter that knows all my secrets
strange angel that does not talk but says it all:
that on this soil someone else’s blood is boiling




Photo by: Anja Ilieva

This post is also available in: Macedonian