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Milica Milosavljević was born in 1991 in Čačak. Her poems were published in the magazine for poetic research and activity “(sic!)”, “Književni Magazin”, “Beogradski Književni Časopis”, “Sent”, “Libela”, “Ars”, in the online poetry magazine “Enklava”, as well as the literary and cultural web portal “Strane”. In 2014, she won the “Milutin Bojić” library award which enabled her to publish a poetry book titled “Dark Intimacies” (Tamne intimnosti). In the same year, she was the winner of the festival for young poets “Days of Poetry” in Zaječar, which included her book “In the Zone of Temperate Continental Fears” (U zoni umereno–kontinentalnih strahova) in their edition. In 2019, she won second place at the Ratković Poetry Evenings for young poets. She is a student at the Department for Serbian Literature and Language with Comparative Literature at the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade. As well as poetry, she writes prose and literary reviews. 

Years Dedicated To Illusions 

For long I believed that I was here 

to bring joy to others  

to freshen their lives with poetry, 

although no one felt the need for it, 

let alone its possible meanings 

all they wanted was to take part in this body and 

grasp its lustful reality 

by observing others 

leaving, their heart would, for a moment, 

pound harder 

if they would realize 

that from now on they will be 

my formal culprits for everything  

soon, their heart starts to beat 

in its usual rhythm 

gradually it starts to forget 

and I, since then, up till now, 

devotedly ponder 

every moment of our encounters 

like a scientist in front of a microscope. 

A Girl’s Dream 

I don’t want to be put on the horizon of hope 

like on a breathing machine 

I want to swim in the direction opposite to waiting 

one can become a slave even in brief 

safety relief encounters 

I see you a few years from now lying on a beach 

wearing a bikini and drinking a shake, he tells me 

forget writing 

you must live fuller, fishier 

you cannot simply become a fish, a fish-poet 

at the bottom of this low-calorie and no-yeast world 

you mustn’t show off your curves so as to surrender to others 

the cruelty you have intended for yourself 

don’t identify with the role of feeder of innocent horny 


they’ll fly just the same 

remember – it is your kind 

that is most prone to falling. 


I grew up in a home 

where everything was poetry 

from lunch to airing the room 

from avoiding responsibility to awaiting a new sunrise 

there was no he-poet in the house 

there was she-poet 

but there were always poems 

when we grow up  

we will defend ourselves from these poems –  

my sister would say 

and my brother would say 

and I would say 

when we grow up 

there will be no poetry 

we will surround life from all sides 

and dance to the rhythm of uncertainty. 

(Translated in EnglishLucy Stevens)