玛雅·米洛伊科维奇（Maja Milojković）诗4首

Poetics Multilingual Mag

玛雅·米洛伊科维奇（Maja Milojković），国际诗人、画家和评论家，1975 年出生于扎耶查尔，曾居塞尔维亚博尔，目前在塞尔维亚和丹麦两地生活。在塞尔维亚，她是贝尔格莱德“斯菲罗斯”出版社副主编、“魔山与月亮的沙圈”协会的副主席。其作品散见于众多国内外报刊、选集和电子媒体中，她的一些歌曲也可以在YouTube上找到。玛雅著有两本书，《月亮的圆圈》（2019）、《欲望之树》（2023）。她的诗作已被译成英语、匈牙利语、孟加拉语、乌尔都语、普什图语、印地语和保加利亚语。玛雅是塞尔维亚扎耶查尔诗歌俱乐部“乐土”（Area Felix）的成员，也是塞尔维亚克尼亚热瓦茨文学俱乐部“金笔”的成员。她还是黑山波德戈里察国际作家和艺术家协会“山景”和其他一些国际组织的成员。


通往幸福之路

想象这样一个世界：每个清晨都弥漫着感恩的气息，
人们举起双手，不是为了伤害，而是为了拥抱。
言语不再是武器，而是理解的种子，
每一个眼神都化作静默与和平的祈祷。

在那个世界里，长者昂首挺胸——
因为年轻人没有忘记他们，
而是怀着敬意追随他们的脚步。
孩子们在绿茵茵的田野上嬉戏，纯洁无瑕，
蜜蜂向他们轻声诉说着花朵的秘密，
树木茁壮成长，
朝向一片终于不再呼吸烟雾和痛苦的天空。

河流比以往任何时候都更加清澈，
带着感恩的歌声流向大地，
每一滴水都知晓自己的名字，
每一缕泉水都闪耀着祈祷生命的光芒。

没有人用黄金来衡量生命的价值，
而是由内而外散发的善良。
饥饿是一个被遗忘的词语，
因为每一张餐桌都是神圣的，
每一颗心都是一座敞开的庙宇。

想象一下，城市轻声吟唱，
街道上弥漫着人类双手播下的希望的芬芳，
人们明白，大地是母亲，而非仆人。
蜜蜂是天使，
森林是光明的殿堂。

如果我们决定，
哪怕只有一次，所有人一起，
感恩每一次呼吸，
感恩每一滴水，
感恩每一个生命——
世界将会改变。
邪恶将失去它的栖身之所，
幸福将在我们中间找到——
它的道路。

因为通往幸福的道路并非通往斗争，
而是通往理解。
并非通往力量，
而是通往温柔。
并非通往高墙，
而是通往播种的双手，
以及发现美好的眼睛。

让这首诗鲜活起来。
让它轻声回响，
在每一个敢于
相信——
世界依然可以美好的人心中。



THE PATH TO HAPPINESS

Imagine a world where every morning smells of gratitude,
where hands are raised not to harm, but to embrace.
Where words are not weapons, but seeds of understanding,
and every glance becomes a prayer of silence and peace.

In that world, the old walk upright —
for the young have not forgotten them,
but follow their steps with respect.
Children play on green fields, pure of heart,
while bees whisper to them the secrets of flowers,
and the trees grow tall,
toward a sky that finally breathes without smoke or pain.

Rivers flow clearer than ever,
carrying songs of gratitude to the earth,
each drop of water knowing its name,
each spring shining like a prayer of life.

No one measures the worth of life in gold,
but in kindness that glows from within.
Hunger is a forgotten word,
for every table is sacred,
and every heart an open temple.

Imagine cities that sing softly,
where streets smell of hopes planted by human hands,
where people have understood that the earth is a mother,
not a servant.
That the bee is an angel,
and the forest — a cathedral of light.

And if we decided,
just once, all together,
to be thankful for every breath,
for every drop of water,
for every living being —
the world would change.
Evil would lose its home,
and happiness would find its path —
among us.

For the path to happiness does not lead through struggle,
but through understanding.
Not through power,
but through gentleness.
Not through walls,
but through hands that plant,
and eyes that see the good.

Let the poem come alive.
Let it echo softly,
in every person who dares
to believe —
that the world can still be beautiful. 时钟

天堂的墙上悬挂着一口时钟，
无形，无声，没有指针，
然而——它无处不在。
它不计量分钟，
而是灵魂的颤动。
它的机械由真理驱动，
当人说谎时，
它的指针便会停止。
它能分辨言语与情感，
它能听见内心的沉默，
当它在罪恶的重压下颤抖。
它并非普通的时钟——
它是上帝衡量善行的尺度，
是真诚的秘密守护者。
每一个念头，每一个意图，
目光中的每一抹阴影，
都会在它的玻璃上留下痕迹。
当你爱得纯粹时，它闪耀光芒；
当你心存嫉妒时，它内部的齿轮便会断裂。
它不会“滴答滴答”地走动，
而是轻声低语：
“你真诚吗？”
“你触动过灵魂吗？”
“你是真正的自己吗？”
它的时间不会流逝，
它只会审判。
当世界以虚假的秒数运转时，
那时钟——无形而永恒——
静静地计量着灵魂，
而非岁月。

THE CLOCK

On the wall of heaven hangs a clock,
invisible, silent, without hands,
and yet — it is everywhere.
It does not measure minutes,
but the tremors of the soul.
Its mechanism is moved by truth,
and its hands stop
when a man lies.
It knows the difference between words and feelings,
it hears the silence of the heart
when it trembles under the weight of guilt.
It is no ordinary clock —
it is God’s measure of goodness,
a secret guardian of sincerity.
Every thought, every intention,
every shadow in one’s gaze
leaves a trace upon its glass.
When you love purely, it shines,
when you envy, a gear breaks within it.
It does not tick “tick-tock,”
but whispers:
“were you truthful,”
“have you touched souls,”
“were you truly you.”
Its time does not pass,
it judges.
And while the world turns in false seconds,
that clock — unseen, eternal —
quietly measures souls,
not days. 镜中

镜中，你透过自己的双眼凝视着我。
你呼唤我。
你藏匿我。
你深爱我。
你闭上双眼——为了遗忘，
为了让一切停止。
但就像磨坊的流水——从不会止息。
水滴的轮子不停转动，
生命如河流奔涌向前。
我在你的眼眸中重生，
在你的眼睑之下，
化作一份爱，掩盖另一份爱。
唯有镜子破碎时，遗忘才随之而来。
但我们的爱……
我们的爱每一次都重获新生——
每当你凝视自己，
并在倒影中认出我的眼睛。
那就是我们：
思绪相连，
未曾相遇，
未曾触碰，
一无所有——
却又拥有一切，
在超越言语的
情感的丰盈之中。


IN THE MIRROR

In the mirror, through your own eyes, you watch me.
You call to me.
You hide me.
You love me.
You close your eyes — to forget,
to stop everything.
But like water at the mill — it does not stop.
A wheel of liquid drops keeps turning,
life flows like a river.
I am born again in your eyes,
beneath your eyelids,
a love with which you cover another love.
Forgetfulness comes when the mirror breaks.
But ours...
Ours is reborn each time —
when you look at yourself
and in your reflection recognize my eyes.
That is us:
connected by thoughts,
without meeting,
without touch,
without anything —
yet with everything,
in the fullness of feeling
that transcends words. 父亲的影子

你走了，却无处不在。
在清晨的茶香里，在万籁俱寂的屋子里。
在我脱口而出的某句话里，浑然不知那是向你学来的。
你爱猫，爱狗，爱飞鸟——爱每一个会呼吸的生灵。
你常说动物比人更诚实，你与它们平等相待。
它们爱你，就像这世界爱你一样——静默，却永恒。
你会站在房间中央吟诵，
你的双手从不寻求掌声，只是让情感随意流淌。
你的话语中蕴含着尊严与温暖，以及那罕见的亲和力，
让人不由自主地静下心来，静静聆听。
你离去，如同你生前一样平静。
没有华丽的辞藻，没有喧嚣。
但你并没有消失——你成了我所爱之物的一部分。
成了我的一部分。
有时，我感觉你就在身边。
在蜷卧在我膝上的猫身上，在守在门口的狗的眼神里。
在我迷茫无助时，指引我前行的声音里。
人们说时间能治愈一切。
或许吧。
但你曾经的模样——不会消逝。
它一直都在。在我爱的方式里，在我沉静的姿态里，
在我依然渴望温柔的眼神里。
有时我会给你写信。
没有地址，没有邮票。
只有心知道它们的去向。
如今我不常落泪，
但每当微风拂动窗帘——
我便知道是你。
你温柔的灵魂，你那比言语更具包容力的静默。


Father's Shadow

You're gone, yet you’re everywhere.
In the scent of morning tea, in the quiet of the house when everything is still. In a phrase I speak, not knowing I once learned it from you.
You loved cats, dogs, birds — every creature that breathes.
You used to say animals are more honest than people, and you spoke to them as equals.
They loved you, just as the world did — quietly, but forever.
You would stand in the middle of the room and recite,
with hands that never sought applause, only to let the feeling pass through you.
In your words lived dignity, warmth, and that rare closeness that made people fall silent and listen.
You left as gently as you lived.
Without grand words, without noise.
But you didn’t disappear — you became part of everything I love.
Part of me.
Sometimes I feel you near.
In the cat curled in my lap, in the dog’s gaze waiting by the door.
In the voice that guides me when I don’t know where to go.
They say time heals.
Perhaps.
But what you were — it doesn’t fade.
It stayed. In the way I love, in the way I remain silent, in a gaze that still seeks kindness.
Sometimes I write you letters.
No address, no stamp.
Only the heart knows where they go.
And I don’t cry as often now,
but when the wind stirs the curtains —
I know it’s you.
Your gentle spirit, your silence that embraces better