When a man has already wilted

This means he’s past his bloom

Gone beyond perfections

Falling like withered leaf

Onto the hardened earth.

When a pesserby sees

The wind palying with that leaf

He will not know his soul

Has built a shrine

That invokes the great storm.


I can see through

The second side

Of the mirror.

On the first I am crucified.

We eat

Dry crusts of wisdom.

We face the mirror.

David Ninov, An Island on Land, Anthology of contemporary macedonian poetry, Macquarie University, Sydney 1999.