Lives Journal 1

Milena Merlak 






I raise myself out of midnight,

raise myself onto the bier of day,

with arms uplifted I raise myself,

raise myself by bright moonbeams,

I raise myself right up to the moon

to fetch the magic wand of dreams

and cast spells.


As bright sorcerer of night,

in the singing reflection of stars,

I form windows that are black and dead,

casting spells and gently swaying

on the gallows of moonlight,

hanged by night.







The altars have caved in.

Ropes holding churchbells

have been severed.


Wings have been torn from angels.

The eternal light has been snuffed out.


There's nothing left

but the echo of laughter

and the faded fresco

above the extinguished chandelier.


Everyone's gone but Herod's bored wife

searching for the Baptist's head

with her rosary in her hand

and a weary Judas

begging to be damned.


Heavy candlesticks with empty sockets

lie on the ground.






Translated from Slovenian by Herbert Kuhner





Slovenian (gajica)

Slovenian (bohorichica)