Nina Kodrič and Snježana Vračar Mihelač

the news of the day cut right through
mothers start refusing food
as if it could be real
it’s not a hasty decision
it stirs our indifference
they have nothing left to lose
blasts through
except for their voice
the rampant apathy
they stop impassable bodies
endless pretence knows no bounds
scattered like cargoes
instead of a containable everyday life
vital like breathing
we carry the burdens of our streets
they save the world
we are not mere spectators
by self-annihilation
because of her we huddled together
by renouncing their own bodies
system upgrades on-screen
it’s in our blood
reviving weak bodies
it’s in our wound
sensing a sharp pain
inevitable like glycogen depletion
we refuse the handshake
like dehydration
we must heed what was pledged
a complaint stored in the collarbone
breath turns into expectation
a muscle tissue breakdown
announcing the state of crisis
a slow pulse and nausea
we require more than what we possess
they do what they think they should do
women in the front lines
they have already split once
written out of history
now the body will be denied the rest
we stand in the midst
they enter a survival phase
of a restless city
the voices of children in their mothers’ throats
prohibited passage
the collapse
for the insurgent women
potassium phosphate sodium
a cycle that never ends
the vain hearts of dead children’s mothers
depleted signaling
their size disproportionate to their function
urban noise
they shrink and reduce
missed calls on the phone
the liver slows down
where are the boundaries
the kidneys reduce filtration
of the body’s capacity
mothers open the way for infections
with the remaining strength
dead children’s mothers
the will refuses to yield
lifeless bodies are all theirs
human shield
they start self-decomposing
shallow breathing
hunger chews the silence as slowly as Sunday
severe anxiety attacks
mothers cramped like workers’ apartments
a ruin an inner disorder
unspoken bodies
unspoken remnants
tied with an umbilical cord
injecting strychnine
in a night inhabited by silence
dissolving the strings of cellular membranes
demolished and burned
oversaturated and fumed
persistent like bedbugs
from both sides
like supporting pillars
where do you stand
like a timetable
the forecast is clear
upright like a lighthouse
palpating the vein in the neck
light like hand palms
facial expressions
pure like good water
reveal nothing
defiant trees reaching upward
the stop sign is burning
burn never stronger
it is changing
never better
starving in the shadow
mothers against the regime
of the imperious media machinery
severe hypoglycemia
demolition decompression
heart arrhythmia
summons to agony
multiple injuries
gathering strengths
loss of consciousness
ragged we will surge into the streets
death risk
aware of the consequences
but what is death
dead mothers leaning on one another
for dead children’s mothers
the air thickens into an omen
for children without eyes
buried on the podium
for eyes without children
excavated in a vacuum
for the hunger of children elsewhere
they look on feasting
from foreigners’ dining rooms
from the piled-up colonial tables
bone rattling
for sight with no future
for having the backbone
mothers are opening doors
for mothers fed up with pain
grasping
mothers hungry for justice
guarding
like griffon vultures
with the blade’s razor-sharp edge
that graze white sheep
they wound they assail
while the canopies collapse
stomping to the last
cities like glass
compressed cheeks
boulevards of rage and no sense
skin too tight
hospitals with no incubators
it lingers in our mind
the corporations sow death
the corporation’s insatiable appetite
corruption occupation greed
futile petty change sanctions
economy of genocide
we will be the ones to stop it
infrastructure of femicide
the arms-fuelled mania of the patriarchy
shoots better than knife
an axe or a fall down the stairs
drone and sniper
stop squinting
a man standing by a man
indifferent eyes
they spread their hands around the world
every dead cell in the body
women refuse to give birth to abusers
fighting for survival
to dead soldiers
no temporary solution will suffice
they spend time on the edges
intertwined communities heal
they reject personal geographies
what’s been destroyed
European racism
false hope refuses to die
colonial history
evil
glorification of war crimes
evil
permanent violence
EVIL
body collapses
system collapses
dead women
the sound between us
starved to death
is a scream
dead children’s dead mothers
at last exhale without fear
undermine the machinery
sharp edges blur
dead mothers living mothers
those we shape together
living women
the hypocrisy evolves
they shine our way in the dark
into endless hope
relentlessly
there will finally be
like a neon sun
a safe space for us

Umbilical Cord (Mrtve matere žive majke) is a two-voice poem originally written in Slovenian and Croatian. Translated from Slovenian by Nina Hudej; from Croatian by Ivana Maksić. Proofread by Jelena Mandić.

Snježana Vračar Mihelač (born in Pula) lives and works in Ljubljana. She is a poet, journalist, and translator active in the Slovenian and post-Yugoslav literary scene. Her work has appeared in literary magazines, journals, and anthologies, including Sreća je sol (2025), Signali u noći (2024), ZaNa III (2023), and Tanane revolucije (2023).

Nina Kodrič (aka NinaBelle) is a musician, lyricist, songwriter, DJ, producer, and activist based in Ljubljana. She works as a musical accompanist for literary programmes on Radio Slovenia and organises club and concert events locally. Since 2017, she co-develops the electronic duo Warrego Valles with Nina Hudej, releasing four albums (Location Off, Botox, Save as, Turbo) and several singles and remixes. Their performances blend post-club electronic styles, remaining genre-fluid and experimental. She writes original lyrics, is part of the queer DJ collective Ustanova, co-organises the Grounded Festival, and produces events at Pritličje, focusing on women-led collectives. linktr.ee/warregovalles

This poem appears in Uprooted: Poems of Resistance, Witness, and Survival (The Chaos Section Poetry Project, Fall 2026). We’re sharing each poem from the collection individually over the coming weeks. You can read the full book or download the free PDF here.