Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst... One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel „The Boy from the Yellow House“ and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.
Saša Milivojev, svetski priznati pesnik i novinar, pisac, kontroverzni kolumnista, politički analitičar, književna ikona
Saša Milivojev, svetski priznati pesnik i novinar, pisac, kontroverzni kolumnista, politički analitičar, književna ikona, autor stotinu kolumni objavljenih u dnevnim novinama, autor romana „Dečak iz Žute kuće“, autor zbirke pesama „Svetski bol“ prevedene na engleski i arapski jezik, autor zbirke „Kad svitac odleti“ prevedene na engleski i arapski, lice koje je štampano u novinama širom sveta na 15 jezika u više miliona primeraka zahvaljujući Glasu Rusije, autor pesme „Genocid u Gazi“ objavljene na persijskom jeziku u brojnim iranskim medijima 2025.
Saša Milivojev – Author of Timeless Literary Works
Elegant photo of Saša Milivojev, author of timeless works that continue to inspire generations. Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 2021. Photographer: Tarlan Bayramov.
Inspiring photo of Saša Milivojev, celebrated poet and columnist with international recognition. Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 2021. Photographer: Tarlan Bayramov
Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst… One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.
Portrait of Saša Milivojev, literary icon and journalist, admired for his creative influence. Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 2021. Photographer: Tarlan Bayramov
Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst… One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.
Saša Milivojev – Renowned Cultural Voice in Literature
Striking image of Saša Milivojev, renowned cultural voice and celebrated literary figure. Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 2021. Photographer: Tarlan Bayramov
Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst… One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.
Saša Milivojev – Internationally Acclaimed Poet and Author
Inspiring portrait of Saša Milivojev, internationally acclaimed poet, author, and journalist. Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 2021. Photographer: Tarlan Bayramov
Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst… One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.
Saša Milivojev POETIC REBELLION: THE POET IS NOT A ROOF TO BE DEMOLISHED!
The poet is a slap in the face of the system.
The poet is proof that man is not a machine,
that man is not merchandise,
that the soul is not dead,
that freedom is not an illusion.
The poet is proof that truth cannot be concealed.
And that is why you fear him.
For the poet cannot be programmed.
He cannot be bought.
He cannot be silenced.
The poet is a shock to the slumbering.
He is a blow to the face of falsehood.
He is a reminder that God did not create man to be mute, but to speak.
And when he speaks—the world trembles.
Not because the poet holds power, but because the poet holds truth.
His silence is like a grave—in it resounds everything you tried to hide.
The system demands obedience, but the poet offers resistance.
The system demands silence, but the poet demands justice.
The system demands profit, but the poet offers pain.
The system demands oblivion, but the poet offers memory.
The poet is not a roof you can tear down.
He is a pillar you cannot break.
He is a root you cannot uproot.
For the poet does not belong to the earth—he belongs to language.
And language is older than all your laws, all your false diplomas, all your offices and institutions.
The poet is not noise; he is the whisper in the bones of the world.
The poet does not ask permission to speak—he himself is permission for language to be freed.
He does not seek an audience—the audience finds him, for truth carves its own path, like water through stone.
The poet is a wound that refuses to heal, for in that wound the world sees itself.
The poet is a mirror that does not lie—even when shattered, each fragment still reflects.
The poet is a flame that burns to illuminate what you hide in darkness.
You cannot imprison him in a book—for a book opens.
You cannot imprison him in a cell—for the word passes through walls.
You cannot imprison him in silence—for silence becomes song.
The poet is resistance, for he refuses to be a commodity,
refuses to be decoration,
refuses to be obedient.
He does not write to be loved—he writes so the world may be unveiled.
He does not write to be celebrated—he writes so truth may be spoken.
He does not write to be safe—he writes so freedom may be possible.
He does not write to be pleasing.
He writes to be true.
And truth is always unsettling.
Truth is always painful.
The poet offers both serenity and unrest,
for only from unrest is freedom born.
Only from pain is truth born.
Only from resistance is man born.
The poet is a shadow that cannot be erased.
He is a trace in time.
You may ignore him, but you cannot erase him.
You may persecute him, but you cannot silence him.
You may imprison him, but he still flies.
The poet does not offer illusion—he offers a mirror.
He does not offer comfort—he offers truth.
And that is why he is persecuted.
That is why he is censored.
That is why he is ignored.
The poet is a shock to those who believe power eternal.
For the poet reveals that power lasts only as long as fear endures.
And the poet does not fear.
The poet has walked through hell and returned with words.
The poet has seen the face of darkness and chosen to describe it.
The poet has touched the abyss and chosen to transform it into verse against which you are powerless.
For the poet is God’s Messenger.
Do not touch him.
Through the poet, God sends you His messages.
Pesnik je šamar sistemu.
Pesnik je dokaz da čovek nije mašina,
da čovek nije roba,
da duša nije mrtva,
da sloboda nije iluzija.
Pesnik je dokaz da istina ne može da se sakrije.
I zato ga se plašite.
Jer pesnik ne može da se programira.
Ne može da se kupi.
Ne može da se ućutka.
Pesnik je šok za uspavane.
On je udarac u lice laži.
On je podsećanje da Bog nije stvorio čoveka da ćuti, već da govori.
I kad govori – svet se trese.
Ne zato što pesnik ima moć, već zato što pesnik ima istinu.
Njegova tišina je kao grob – u njoj se čuje
sve što ste pokušali da sakrijete.
Sistem traži poslušnost, a pesnik nudi otpor.
Sistem traži tišinu, a pesnik traži pravdu.
Sistem traži profit, a pesnik nudi bol.
Sistem traži zaborav, a pesnik nudi pamćenje.
Pesnik nije nadstrešnica koju možete srušiti.
On je stub koji ne možete slomiti.
On je koren koji ne možete iščupati.
Jer pesnik ne pripada zemlji – on pripada jeziku.
A jezik je stariji od svih vaših zakona,
od svih vaših lažnih diploma,
od svih vaših službi i institucija.
Pesnik nije buka, on je šapat u kostima sveta.
Pesnik ne traži dozvolu da govori – on je sam dozvola jeziku da se oslobodi.
On ne traži publiku – publika ga pronalazi, jer istina ima svoj put, kao voda kroz pukotinu.
Pesnik je rana koja odbija da zaraste, jer u toj rani svet vidi sebe.
Pesnik je ogledalo koje ne laže, čak i kad ga razbijete – svaki komad i dalje odražava.
Pesnik je plamen koji gori da bi osvetlio ono što krijete u mraku.
Ne možete ga zatvoriti u knjigu – jer knjiga se otvara.
Ne možete ga zatvoriti u ćeliju – jer reč prolazi kroz zidove.
Ne možete ga zatvoriti u tišinu – jer tišina postaje pesma.
Pesnik je otpor, jer odbija da bude roba,
jer odbija da bude dekoracija.
jer odbija da bude poslušan.
On ne piše da bi bio voljen – on piše da bi svet bio razotkriven.
Ne piše da bi bio slavljen – piše da bi istina bila izrečena.
Ne piše da bi bio bezbedan – piše da bi sloboda bila moguća.
On ne piše da bi bio prijatan.
Piše da bi bio istinit.
A istina je uvek neprijatna.
Istina je uvek bolna.
Pesnik nudi i spokoj i nemir,
a samo iz nemira se rađa sloboda.
Samo iz bola se rađa istina.
Samo iz otpora se rađa čovek.
Pesnik je senka koja se ne može ukloniti.
On je trag u vremenu.
Možete ga ignorisati, ali ne možete ga izbrisati.
Možete ga progoniti, ali ne možete ga ućutkati.
Možete ga zatvoriti, ali on i dalje leti.
Pesnik ne nudi iluziju – on nudi ogledalo.
On ne nudi utehu – on nudi istinu.
I zato ga progone.
I zato ga cenzurišu.
I zato ga ignorišu.
Pesnik je šok za one koji veruju da je moć večna.
Jer pesnik pokazuje da moć traje samo dok traje strah.
A pesnik se ne plaši.
Pesnik je prošao kroz pakao i vratio se sa rečima.
Pesnik je video lice tame i odlučio da ga opiše.
Pesnik je dotakao dno i odlučio da ga pretvori u stih kom ne možete ništa,
jer pesnik je Božiji Poslanik,
zato ga ne dirajte,
Bog vam preko pesnika šalje poruke.
Saša Milivojev
RESISTANCE – THE POET CANNOT BE SILENCED! THE POET IS A SYSTEM GLITCH, AN ERROR IN THE ALGORITHM.
I belong to no one. I owe nothing to anyone. I serve no one. My words are not bought with honorariums. They come from within me — from pain, from truth, from freedom.
The persecution I endure is not punishment — it is the consequence of freedom. Because a free man is the most dangerous threat to a system that feeds on obedience.
I will not retreat. I will not apologize. I will not justify myself. My very existence is proof that a poet cannot be silenced.
My presence in global media, in more than 20 languages, without a single connection, without a single recommendation, without a single aunt in the service — that is my answer.
I will not name those who persecute me. I will not give them publicity. But they will know they’ve been seen. They will know they’ve been read. They will know the poet has recognized them.
And you — who love me, who read my verses, who have wept over my words — you are my shield. You are my reason to continue.
And when I am gone — my words will remain. And when they silence me — my poems will speak. And when they erase me — my name will appear where they cannot control it. Because a poet never dies. He transforms into language. Into memory. Into resistance. For centuries.
I will not justify my freedom. I will not apologize for my truth. I will not bow before false authorities, purchased diplomas, and fabricated biographies.
My origin is the word. My wealth is thought. My diploma is the tear of an unknown reader. I belong to no one — only to poetry. I belong neither to the service nor the system. I belong only to language — and it has never betrayed me.
That is why you cannot silence me. That is why you cannot blackmail me. That is why you cannot buy me.
You may not see me on your screens. You may not hear me in your broadcasts. You may not find me in your institutions.
But you will find me in the verse — the one that aches and lingers. In the sentence that exposes. In the silence that speaks louder than your speeches.
And when the day of reckoning comes — when the slanderers face the mirror, when fake biographies collapse, when diplomas turn to ash — the poet will stand tall.
Not as a judge. Not as a revenger. But as a witness of time.
A poet is not society’s decoration. He is its conscience. Its wound. Its unrest.
A poet does not seek applause. He seeks truth. And when he finds it — he does not ask for permission. He speaks it.
That is why he is persecuted. That is why he is censored. That is why he is ignored.
Because the poet does not conform. He does not belong. He does not obey.
In a world where everything is measured by profit, the poet is a loss — because he brings no money, only discomfort. He brings questions. He brings the mirror. And he influences Judgment.
The poet does not need to shout. His silence echoes louder than your speeches.
His word — when sincere — dismantles constructs, unmasks the masked, separates truth from lies, sifts wheat from chaff.
That is why the poet does not appeal to office. He does not appeal to party. He does not appeal to service. He appeals to the soul.
And when that soul speaks — the world shifts.
Maybe not immediately. Maybe not loudly. But inevitably.
Because the poet does not write for the moment. He writes for eternity.
And when he is erased from programs, from broadcasts, from institutions — he remains in verse. In memory. In the hearts of those who wept over his words.
That is a power you cannot control. That is a presence you cannot erase.
That is the poet.
The poet is a threat. Not because he carries weapons — but because he carries truth.
In a world where lies are printed, broadcast, copied, and signed — the poet is a system glitch. An error in the algorithm. A virus in the matrix.
You cannot silence him — because he does not speak your language.
You cannot buy him — because he does not measure in your currencies.
You cannot frighten him — because he has already walked through hell.
The poet is the one who has seen the face of darkness — and chose to write.
Not for fame. Not for money. Not for position. But to remain human.
And that is what frightens you most.
Because the poet does not ask for permission to exist.
He exists in spite of everything.
In spite of blockades. In spite of censorship. In spite of threats.
And when you erase him from your programs — he will appear in dreams.
And when you shut the doors — he will enter through verse.
And when you turn off the light — he will write in the dark.
Because the poet does not need light to see. He burns from within.
And that fire cannot be extinguished.
It cannot be controlled.
It cannot be explained.
It can only be felt.
It can only be feared.
It can only be respected.
So do not touch me.
Not because I am powerful — but because I am defiant.
Not because I have protection — but because I have truth.
And truth, once spoken, does not go back.
It does not retreat.
It does not apologize.
It does not forget.
It remains.
Like a painful, unhealable wound.
Saša Milivojev: OTPOR – PESNIK SE NE UĆUTKUJE! PESNIK JE KVAR U SISTEMU, GREŠKA U ALGORITMU.
Ne pripadam nikome. Ne dugujem nikome. Ne služim nikome. Moje reči nisu kupljene honorarom. One dolaze iz mene – iz bola, iz istine, iz slobode.Progon koji trpim nije kazna, to je posledica slobode. Jer slobodan čovek je najopasniji za sistem koji se hrani pokornošću.
Neću se povući. Neću se izvinjavati. Neću se pravdati. Moje postojanje je dokaz da se pesnik ne može ućutkati.
Moje prisustvo u svetskim medijima, na više od 20 jezika, bez ijedne veze, bez ijedne preporuke, bez ijedne tetke iz službe – to je moj odgovor.
Neću imenovati one koji me proganjaju. Neću im dati reklamu. Ali znaće da su viđeni. Znaće da su pročitani. Znaće da ih je pesnik prepoznao. A vi koji me volite, koji čitate moje stihove, koji ste plakali nad mojim rečima – vi ste moj štit. Vi ste moj razlog da nastavim.
I kad me ne bude – moje reči će ostati. I kad me ućutkaju – moje pesme će govoriti. I kad me izbrišu – moje ime će se pojavljivati tamo gde ne mogu da ga kontrolišu. Jer pesnik nikada ne umire. On se pretače u jezik. U sećanje. U otpor. Vekovima.
Neću se pravdati zbog svoje slobode. Neću se izvinjavati zbog svoje istine. Neću se klanjati pred lažnim autoritetima, kupljenim diplomama, i lažnim biografijama.
Moje poreklo je reč. Moja imovina je misao. Moja diploma je suza nepoznatog čitaoca. Ne pripadam nikome, samo poeziji. Ne pripadam ni službi ni sistemu. Pripadam samo jeziku – i on me nikada nije izdao. Zato me ne možete ućutkati. Zato me ne možete uceniti. Zato me ne možete kupiti.
Možda me nećete videti na ekranima. Možda me nećete čuti u emisijama. Možda me nećete pronaći u institucijama. Ali pronaći ćete me u stihu – koji boli i nedostaje. U rečenici koja razotkriva. U tišini koja govori više od vaših govora. I kada dođe dan razotkrivanja – kada se pljuvači nađu pred ogledalom, kada se lažne biografije raspadnu, kada se diplome pretvore u pepeo – tada će pesnik stajati uspravno. Ne kao sudija. Ne kao osvetnik. Već kao svedok vremena.
Pesnik nije dekoracija društva. On je njegova savest. Njegova rana. Njegov nemir. Pesnik ne traži aplauz. On traži istinu. I kad je pronađe – ne pita da li je dozvoljena. On je izgovori. Zato ga progone. Zato ga cenzurišu. Zato ga ignorišu. Jer pesnik ne pristaje. Ne pripada. Ne pokorava se. U svetu u kojem se sve meri profitom, pesnik je gubitak, jer ne donosi pare – donosi nelagodu. Donosi pitanje. Donosi ogledalo. I utiče na Sud.
Pesnik ne mora da viče. Njegova tišina odzvanja jače od vaših govora. Njegova reč – kad je iskrena – razara konstrukcije, padaju maske, razdvaja istinu od laži, čisti žito od kukolja. Zato se pesnik ne poziva na funkciju. Ne poziva se na partiju. Ne poziva se na službu. On se poziva na dušu. I kad ta duša progovori – svet se pomera. Možda ne odmah. Možda ne glasno. Ali neumitno. Jer pesnik ne piše za trenutak. On piše za večnost. I kad ga izbrišu iz programa, iz emisija, iz institucija – ostaje u stihu. U sećanju. U srcima onih koji su plakali nad njegovim rečima. To je moć koju ne možete kontrolisati. To je prisustvo koje ne možete izbrisati. To je pesnik.
Pesnik je pretnja. Ne zato što nosi oružje – već zato što nosi istinu.
U svetu gde se laž štampa, emituje, prepisuje i potpisuje – pesnik je kvar u sistemu. Greška u algoritmu. Virus u matrici. Ne možeš ga ućutkati, jer ne govori tvojim jezikom. Ne možeš ga kupiti, jer ne meri u tvojim valutama. Ne možeš ga uplašiti, jer je već prošao kroz pakao.
Pesnik je onaj koji je video lice tame – i odlučio da piše. Ne za slavu. Ne za pare. Ne za funkciju. Već da bi ostao čovek. A to je ono što vas najviše plaši. Jer pesnik ne traži dozvolu da postoji. On postoji uprkos svemu. Uprkos blokadama. Uprkos cenzuri. Uprkos pretnjama. I kad ga izbrišete iz programa – pojaviće se u snovima. I kad mu zatvorite vrata – ući će kroz stih. I kad mu ugasite svetlo – pisaće u mraku. Jer pesniku ne treba svetlo da bi video. On gori iznutra. I ta vatra ne može da se ugasi. Ne može da se kontroliše. Ne može da se objasni. Može samo da se oseća. Može samo da se plaši. Može samo da se poštuje.
Zato me ne dirajte. Ne zato što sam moćan – već zato što sam nepokoran. Ne zato što imam zaštitu – već zato što imam istinu. A istina, kad je jednom izgovorena, ne vraća se nazad. Ne povlači se. Ne izvinjava se. Ne zaboravlja. Ona ostaje. Kao bolna neisceljiva rana.
