বাংলা English
Borche Panov was born on September 27, 1961 in Radovish, The Republic of North Macedonia. He graduated from the ''Sts. Cyril and Methodius'' University of Skopje in Macedonian and South Slavic Languages (1986). He has been a member of the “Macedonian Writers’ Association” since 1998. He has published: a) poetry: “What did Charlie Ch. See from the Back Side of the Screen” (1991), “Cyclone Eye” (1995), “Stop, Charlie” (2002), “Tact” (2006), “The Riddle of Glass” (2008), “Basilica of Writing” (2010), “Mystical Supper” (2012), “Vdah” (The Breathe of Life) (2014), “Human Silences” (2016), “Uhania” (2017), “Shell” (2018); and several essays and plays: “The Fifth Season of the Year” (2000), “The Doppelgänger Town” (2011), “A Dead-end in the Middle of an Alley” (2002), “Homo Soapiens” (2004), “Catch the Sleep-walker” (2005), “Split by its own Nose” (2006), and “Summertime Cinema” (2007). He has also poetry books published in other languages: “Particles of Hematite” (2016 - in Macedonian and Bulgarian language, published in Bulgaria), “Vdah” (2017 – in Slovenian, published in Slovenia), “Balloon Shaving” (2018 – Serbian, published in Serbia), “Fotostiheza” (“Photopoesis, 2019 – Bulgarian, published in Bulgaria), “Blood that Juggles with 80000 Thoughts” (2021 in Croatian, published in Croatia).http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LPIEOxxuTgg/US9ODgBoiWI/AAAAAAAACTw/lMmybjds9ws/s320/BORCE+PANOV+(1).jpg
 His poetry was published in a number of anthologies, literary magazines and journals both at home and abroad, and his works are translated into English, Ukrainian, Slovenian, Bosnian, Serbian, Croatian, Bulgarian, French, Catalonian, Mongolian, Uzbek, Albanian, Romanian, Polish, Italian, Arabic, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Danish language.
 Panov works as a Counselor for Culture and Education at the municipality of Radovish, and he is also Arts Coordinator for the “International Karamanov’s Poetry Festival”, held in Radovish annually (the first edition of the festival was in 1967). 
 I am dreaming about my mammoth tusks.
 The zoologist from the future
 was reading the season changes on my tusks –
 the bright short summers and the dark winters.
 The right tusk of my dream
 was shorter, because I was right-handed,
 with my right hand I was stripping  the bark of the trees, and I was cutting the trees,
 and I was opening the road of time
 and I was digging my grave.
 I used to be big like God, but I didn’t hunt anything,
 nevertheless the time came when I was hunted because of my teeth.
 They turned my teeth in totems and idols,
 little spoons and forks of ivory
 engraved with the soft faces of their queens,
 little combs and hair needles, erotic scenes carved on the
 little jewelry boxes in which the women got undressed,
 because a woman is naked only when she takes off the jewelry,
 the covers and the handles of the sharp knives and swords,
 Biblical gospels on the covers of the holy books,
 Jesus was crucified on my tusk, too,
 they made the saints, and the papal thrones 
 and the holy Buddha, all from ivory, even the chess pieces among which they were hunting their enemies were made of my tusks.
 I am one of the extinct species.
 When in the morning, I cannot decide whether to wake up as a poet for one more day,
 I am weighted down by my tusks – each of my tusks is 100 kilograms of sleeplessness as heavy
 as the crystallized tissue of my memories.
 One day
 when the colour of my hair
 will turn into adornment on someone else’s face
 and my eyes in someone else’s eyes will dream  
 I wonder –
 Will they recognize the tremble of love
 that like a lonely lantern at the end of the sky
 will remain lit in the night –
 little vigil lamp of the soul
 that hovers over the shadows of a life...
 will I become a better man,
 will I know the answers of all the goodbyes 
 when you are telling me
 that I shouldn’t run away from aging,
 unless I want to die before my time
 and that the life line on your palm
 is invisible for the eyes, but I will find you anyway,
 that I will carry my own years all by myself,
 but towards the youth and my childhood they will lead me,
 until one beautiful day
 through the umbilical cord     
 of the white wind on the Sun
 I see you like a transparent silhouette 
 that has been walking on foot for a long time
 on the longest line of my palm,
 and that with the whole time of this world
 in one glance only, I will be back between us again...
 Deep in the summer night,
 a scent of the fresh bread touches me
 bread in which God has baked the day
 even before sunrise.
 Deep in the night I listen to my heart
 that has overtaken my body
 and for a long time I read those upsetting telegrams 
 that connect
 the dots and the dashes of the silence.
 Long ago, since the umbilical cord
 of a simple parental love,
 I hear the distances
 that make clicking sounds in my body.
 Long ago, before the birth has happened,
 of the muddy hands of God
 I hear the distress of this world
 and I know that I belong 
 only there where I can outlive myself
 before the endless dash of the silence.
 Deep in the summer night,
 a scent of the fresh bread touches me
 bread in which God has baked the day
 even before sunrise.
 On the walls built of laughter and tears,
 on the big ancient circle of the clock,
 the time is still spinning and beating –
 seconds of the heart, hours of the expectance,
 days and nights of the hope…       
 In a moment,
 as soon as the thick hand clock of the seconds raised towards the zenith,
 a sparrow alighted on it and returned the clock hand in the time.
 Land on my thought, oh you, as well, and with your sky weight hold the time
 for all those who ask for a time for the time
 like love that hasn’t happened yet, you, my poem.
 many years ago
 I have sent myself a letter 
 in this foggy morning
 I had memories about the letter
 not about what I have written inside
 we can now continue
 the Russian roulette 
 between us
 now there is the third player
 that was missing

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