From the collection On the Wings of Uril (2018)
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Ikona
Poets, my son,are time-worn soulswho walk the borderbetween waking and dream,visiting even the circles of hell;wanderers,devotees at the gates of paradise.These, my son, are souls thatlive forever!
A quiet harbour of goodness and honour,mother of all tears,comfort to the weary,hope to the forgotten,a bridge of rescue for the lost,matins with the angels,a prayer of healing,that is poetry.
— Vera BasorTranslated from the Serbian.
Read the original Serbian
Pjesnici, moj sine,to su vremešne dušešto hode po graniciizmeđ' jave i sna,posjećujući i krugove pakla;šetači,rajskih dveri poklonici.To su ti, sine moj, duše kojevječno žive!
Tiha luka dobrote i poštenja,majka svih suza,utjeha umornima,nada zaboravljenima,most spasenja zalutalima,jutrenje sa anđelima,molitva ozdravljenja —to je poezija.