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Comments about Biljana Popovic
I wind my watch according to a white ship of Liburnija.
It is noon, my dearest one.
The waves and the sound of a siren which fades away in the haze of a midday calm sea.
The stone we used to sit on is wrapping in the foam, caressing and staring, just like me, at a deep blue.
We keep counting, you and me, each in their own part of torn up world.
Me, at the window,
You, on the slippery ship stairs, with salt stuck to your lips, beautiful like sea grass on tired mermaids.
I see you again at the entrance of the city fortress, my forbidden one.
You are ...