In the village courtyard, an old man was telling me
how he has been living a twenty-year insomnia
and how, as if on a movie screen, he can see the apocalypse.
In a quick segue, the old man changed the conversation
to a memory of my great-grandfather’s demise
when in close combat with the Turkish army,
a yatagan swiftly took off his head
yet his headless body for a few more seconds
kept stabbing the soldier with his dagger.
A moment later and but a meter away from us,
like a black lighting an eagle dived and snatched a rooster,
flew up and became a black pupil in the blue iris of the sky.
Today, a few millimeters away from hell
I remembered the eagle and through his eyes I saw myself,
a sniper’s target that has you firmly in its crosshairs
and again, I saw the body of my long-lost ancestor,
and saw the apocalypse carrying his head in the skies
and the evil which I stab with the dagger of ambiguity.
Translation: Gorjan Kostovski
EN 
MK