Poetry in translation. Translated from the Serbian.The Deceived DevilNo sound, no lightThe world beyond existenceDead timeNo evil, no goodEverything sleepsA deceived devil languishesThe Light-BearerIBy turmoil into the darknessBy a blazing cryBy storm and conquestThe CreatorThe PantokratorThe World-MakerThe Light-BearerThe DemiurgeThe ConquistadorThe LoverOf the emptiness he fills outIIThere is nothing to move before himAs there was nothing before himNoble conquestFire and growthToward his self through emptiness he fliesEmptiness hovers in himHe eats herShe eats himThe most beautiful face that no one ever sawToo big to be seenHis hand touched everythingHis eyes watched from everywhereIIIWhat is the secretWhat deceit, what shadowWhat is our delusion about himWe are so little with a big desireStill piercingly glimpseWe see the surroundingsBut don’t see belowWe are the fire, the desireRational nerve of matterWhat shape and sound are looked for in usWhat so we look for in them?IVThe world sleeps, wakes up,The world hurries, warms up, cools down;The world is a navy in an empty ocean.We are castaways or sailorsWe look at the outsideWe look at the seaNot knowing we are diversWe game, remembrance, fragranceWe spring, bloom We see growth, beauty, tormentWe decay, reach old age, darknessWe are ice in the endIce to iceDragonFrom nothing he comes alone,Fire and sound he is,Passionate and beautifulAssimilates into two worldsTwo armies he leadsEnchantingWith smiles he deceives,Glares and invitesWith fire, when he awakes.His face,Invisible because of greatness, might,Into a shape he transforms and dividesBy invisible light that connects andShapes his nervous system.He nourishes with his bloodstream,Spreading his breathForceful and passionate he breaks.He is the fire.I am the fire,To his own self he saysFire only listens to fire,Fire is the source of shapeI am the source of fire, butHe thunders, flares, breaksHis fire will not endWhen it endsFrom ashes he rises again Whispering TargetsYou know good,You know good is not always good.You show both facesAnd hide them at the same timeOne with one With your target you make the oneYour target is your other poleYour target, the Devil’s intentBorn from desire andFormidableYet too benevolent, immobileIf without a target.The biggest good sleepsAwakened by fire and the fiery blastTempest and bustle.Target gives birth to light,Target toward which you direct your light;Every birth is painful;The target almost unconquerable.What feeds fire?Uprising massSpins and hovers in space;A dreadful law it hides.Through whispers you maintainYour wide expanded selfVoraciousRuttishVibrant toward the targetYou temper yourselfWhisper to yourselfRun awayYou know how huge you areWhat kind of force and law,Lowness and grandeur, a majestyDo shine from you.Whispering yet, you softenA faraway wayAnd the target starts to whisper FlightThere is nobody to hear you.Is the journey more important than the destinationThe Ocean or the ShoreAwait youConfuse you, observe.You—the OceanYou—the ShoreBefore the darknessYou fill the emptiness with your voiceEchoes wait on the way;If they are strongerJourney becomes easier.Letters are guides, swooping birdsGuiding you with glimmers.You are your own teacher.Moving closer by intuition;It has been long since you sailedBut still in the beginning;You uttered countless lettersYou talked.Every sound—a new bird.Birds grow with space;You follow their chirping;They fly with full forceFaithfully waiting for you.You send them aheadSo behind is always aheadYou are closing the circleContinuing the spiralLetters compete in a race,They wave to you;Your dream is their truth;Without your dream there would be no lettersThere would be no harbor, no shoreOr a true flightThe Devil and GodFire and chaosFree will and truthContact, the touch you bestowBreak through and ascendWith masculine powerYou overpower, conquer yourselfFlight and fallDevil and GodTwo sides of the same face