Maid Čorbić

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Maid Čorbić, comes from Bosnia and Herzegovina. He is twenty years old and lives in Tuzla. He spends most of his free time writing and reading books. His works have been published in numerous portals such as « Kosovo Peonies », « Amritanyali Journal »,  » Krajbrezje.mk «  » VIS Internationaly Magazine « and others. He is also the Ambassador of Literature in Syria, and the representative of his country in Terandaz in International Poetry as the youngest author ever. In addition, he was published in several anthologies such as » Lockdown Diaries « , » Hum on Humanity « , » A Beautifull Words « and many others. Published in the almanac » Slavic Lyre « in Russia, as well as the winner in St. Petersburg for Sergei A. Yesenin. Publications printed have a joint collection of prose works » Stories from Isolation « . One of the most representative authors.

 

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AFTER A LOT OF TIME
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« Come on, get dressed quickly and get out in front of your apartment
To see those eyes blurred in the vanguard of the fog
And I embrace my fierce body right next to yours
Gently, without any anxiety or evil thoughts
I feel what love is finally
After many years! « 

Why spend years in loneliness and misery
If there are lights waiting for us somewhere
A future tailored to two?

The years fly by as fast as hand crystallized
With the swing of strong wings that colored eyes play
Waltz of love with a slow way of music, because
With a smile on his face that adorns
The more beautiful side of the world, adorns a part of my existence!

Isn’t it too little when we suffer from stupid insinuations
Where we feel the heat of our hearts because of an argument
Stamped with hot lead, it hurts in our bosoms
Skipping all the pain-stricken body
In twenty-one years?

After a long time, I still look at other people’s happiness
And I spend my time in four facades of textural forms
I wish something would happen, and I still dream about it
What others dream of, a happy smiling face and love
Stained red, a drop of blood
Fluids scattered on the floor;

Twenty-one new ones arrive at the home, smog buzzing through the city
Covered with dust and hoarfrost in the wee hours, it penetrates the lungs
With the occasional vapor from my mouth I feel all the matter of the air
Grief, pain, sobs, struggles, twenty-one wrinkles
New that fate cuts reality for love;

Fugitive.

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