|Violeta Tancheva-Zlateva

Violeta Tancheva-Zlateva (25.04.1968, v. Borievo, Strumica), graduated at the Faculty of Philology in Skopje, department of South Slavic Languages. Member of the Macedonian Writers’ Association since 2000. Member of the editorial staff of the Magazine for literature and culture ACT, the editorial staff of the MWA magazine “Stožer”, as well as member of the Proofreader’s Association of Macedonia. Works as a proofreader at the Publishing House TRI, Skopje. Writes poetry, prose and essays. She has published the following books in prose: Book of Sleep (prose and poems in prose, 1992), Returning (novel, 1993), Going back to Borievo (short stories, 1999), as well as the children’s novel Multicolored letters (2008).

She is the author of the poetry collections: My Picasso (2007), Prisoners of Silence (2010), Fiery (2011), Our story (2013), A Summerless Year (2015) and The Road (2018), She has won four awards at the anonymous Short Story Competition “Andrić Days of Culture” in Travnik in the eighties, first place for prose at the anonymous competition for Independent publications “Gjurgja” for the Book of Sleep, the “Brothers Miladinov” Award of the “Struga Poetry Evenings” for the best poetry book published between two festival editions in 2015 for A Summerless Year, as well as the “Aco Shopov” Award from the Macedonian Writers’ Association for the best book of poetry for the book The Road.


 

SHOULD IT BE OR SHOULDN’T IT

After this
The world will never be the same again –
Who knows the number of those who might have said this
Down the centuries
As rivers of tears and blood flowed
And multitudes of aches ached
And prayers were plucked out of people’s souls

The world will never be the same again –
They thought to themselves, the sufferers,
Whispering in each other’s arms
Whilst heaping up the dead
As if disposables rejected by life
Тhey may have wept as well
Since they had to see it all and never unsee anything

But we have learned nothing from every sickness and every plague
Passing over our heads
We close our minds to the Dark One
For he is too fearsome to be conceived
We are children of the light, oh God –
Didn’t you create us as such
Or, at least, shouldn’t we have become by now?
Will the world be the same again, even after this?
Well, it shouldn’t be!

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