The Fairy With Angel Voice Poem by Aleksandar Sasha Trajkovski

Candles were drowning in liquid wax.
Fire was burning the charcoal half-decomposed.
Portraits on the wall,
were the only diversity,
in monotony of black and white.
And I, then, retired in peace,
I was waiting for the fairy with an angelic voice.
With a pen in hand,
I was waiting for the stanza,
in momentum inspiring,
to catch it in flight.
And while my mind was wandering lazy,
for a vague person,
in nuances divine in contemplation,
with a peony some pink,
ready to show it to the world
the beauty ideal of my verse thoughtful,
I wandered again along with the stanza
somewhere through the window.
Tears welled up in my face,
and a drop in the form of a black spot,
which covered my white paper.
Nostalgia deeply intoxicated me for sleep,
I was overwhelmed by a longing for imagination,
combined with mystical melancholy,
from which I shivered.
In the end I could not stand it,
and I surrendered uncomfortably to the tempting dream.
I saw desert islands in emerald lakes,
fairies on unrestrained horses,
how they caress themselves in healing baths,
lilies white from paradise peonies.
And as soon as the fairy came,
the imagination flew out the window again,
as cigarette smoke flew in spirals.
Images were deleted,
thousands of memories surrounded me,
in a portrait cute.
I kept creating,
waiting for the fairy again,
tolyrically paint it over on sheets of paper,
with black spots,
from the tears that dripped,
sitting on a wooden chair,
in the sad house with
window open.