Poetry by Marina Aristo Marković
A cycle of poems about distance, unrest, art, and love. Written in restless times. Offered without apology. In the beginning, there was breath. And the breath trembled. It trembled above cities of glass and smoke, above markets louder than prayer, above hands that built monuments and forgot how to touch. We live in a time of noise when everyone speaks and no one hears. A time when distance feels safer than closeness, when wars are watched from afar, when suffering is measured, priced, and archived. In such a time, poetry is not ornament. It is witness. It is resistance. It is the refusal to become numb. These poems were not written to decorate silence. They were written because silence was broken. They rise from crowded streets and narrow rooms, from sleepless nights and restless thought, from the space between revolt and tenderness, between isolation and longing, between the world as it stands and the world as it might yet be. There is a season when justice removes her blindfold ...