Naida Mujkić, PhD. Her work has appeard in literary journal and anthologies around the world. So far, she published five books of poetry and one book of lyrical prose. She has participated in several international poetry and literature festivals.
First they were timidly bringing logs in shopping bags, and then, little by little, they started coming to the park carrying transparent bags with kindling. One man who was buying from them was taking smoke tree over the border and sold it there five times as expensive. The married couple knew nothing about borders. Their customers were elderly people who were pushing wheeled shopping bags in front of them. They were saying that trees had been following them. Medicinal trees grow there were the old people fall ill. But smoke tree didn’t grow in the town. Did it mean the smoke tree was of no use for the old people in town? The married couple had no answer to this question. “We’re just selling smoke tree,” they said.
The snow is sleeping in the park. December morning is turning out its pockets. And old people are sleeping in their smelly rooms, while those luckier ones are no longer there. With iron fingers the woman is taking off snow from heaped smoke trees, like a wrinkled bedsheet. Street lamps are blinking. Memories grow on leaves that are still holding on to the branches. The man is looking at the leaves. It appears that the leaves are trying to say something to him, but the man doesn’t understand.
I WISH TO HAVE A HOME
I've seen magnolia flowers blooming gently At the corner of an abandoned street And Aborigines making love To fallen petals In an unconscious state And nobody recognises them Shells, iron ore rocks and firs Are coming out from my mouth Roads are bursting through of my mouth Roads full of sunsets And these are now their roads By which they count Sunsets Or spread wind, so the magnolia flowers Disperse Into dark lines on the ground Only the song is everywhere Every petal every scream