I was not born because you died

I was not born because you died
And I'm not the dawn
because you wanted to be the twilight
And I'm not a stone statue
You keep circling about
The way the mist spins around a treetop
Because a treetop is the map without a city
You are looking for
Each bough leads back to its root
In watered shadows foretold
Because a treetop is a barren autumn lightning
Burning the skylinks of earth hooks pinned on leaves
Except that the treetop it wants to stay and grow
Don't think I've got leaves because you pruned me
Or that the green is the colour of an ever life

I was not born because you died
And I'm not the light because you chose your dark
And I'm not the hope because you leave things hopeless
I'm neither your failure nor your success

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Cyclic dance of the entrance (Nafaka)

a silk made fabric beyond the arch
like a scarf made of stars
the smell of the snow through October and the wind
the street I live in smells of bad perfume
the house I live carries a damp smell
the treetops my birds live in
shoke all of their nests
will there remain any trace
the graves will sing the way the cradles can?
a silk made fabric beyond the arch
like a scarf made of stars
will be torn by night?
the moon will start dancing beyond the arch
the dance of love and hate
pain and bliss
cyclic dance of the entrance

nad svodom tkanina svilena
ko marama satkana od zvijezda
brise pred sobom

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A bit of being cut off from a memory/Moj

Echoes closely down the hall like nothing
Thoughts ajar in a big silence
Like a door I must not go through
Unfulfilled thoughts
Left to beat in somebody else’s wells

The moments dragged into nowhere
Through a glass pane pacified in memory
A shivering hope will unveil the veil
Open the eyes
My shadow across the sky
Who knows how many times
Will beg for everything
That doesn’t want to give in
Like a wave drowned in the sea of waiting
Tearful song it will cry
In the foam out of the foam
My newly born dawn

Moj

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Silent refugees

What are we left with
When years and health are gone
When tents fall down under the roofs
When the shelters no longer shelter

When winters close down frozen and fireless
When summers burn crying for some ice
When springs forget to grow
And autumns die within a leaf

Who are we left with
When all the beloved are gone
When the helpful can no longer help
When there are no more roads to run
When the vacuum of the universe
Closes beyond our heads

Silent refugees from the earth
Silent refugees from the sky
In Who we shall die

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The night of mine (Nafaka)

like a pale cracking shadow of the Moon, my night
like a thought of an infinity below a starlit arch, my night
like a murmur of distant lonely silences, my night
like a breathing dying out under the pillow of pain, my night
like an evening star trown into a well, my night
like an abyss of heigths being silenced by the bottom, my night
like shivering of hours at the edge of the knife, my night
like windy wings in unspreadness, my night
like a whisper cut off from the quivering lips, my night
like fingers weaving the webs of the reveiled, my night
like a dawn of darkness, my night

kao blijedilo iskricave sjenke Mjeseca
noc moja
kao misao beskraja pod zvjezdanim svodom
noc moja
kao vreva dalekih usamljenih tisina
noc moja
ko minulo disanje pod jastukom od bola

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Never meant to

Never meant to
Call the twilight though I knew the beams
Peaceful soothing lulling asleep
Amidst the broken daylight's hands
When I saw Time was slipping away
I knew the lines will raise no heart
But I kept edging them to please the sunset
To make it reach that side of hill
Where sunsets never die
Where rays in love with day dimmed edges
Write down sharp visions of the fading lights

Never meant to
Call the midnights into my room
Even though I knew
When it's pitch silence the darkness surrenders
To the shimmering starlight out of the windows
Now lit with many a candle light
Never meant to but the minutes were shining
Against their clock hands and everything stopped

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Yes I Am That Cast Away Shadow/Da Ja Sam Ta Odbacena Sjenka

Merry go spin that walks through your door
Chasing the tail of a wild beast night
And jealous of the moon that snarles at the hunt

Yes I can turn the wisps of smoke spelled signs
Into the raincall that falls into your eyes
To fulfill a promise made within a drop
Of plenitude vacancy jigsaw puzzled thought
Reverberating through your starvexed mind

Yes I once wrote an ode to a Moon beam
And a biography of a pallid white
Paling across the face of earth
And loved it the way a woman loves its own disease

No I can never belong to you
Unless you belong to yourself

Da ja sam ta odbacena sjenka
Što se ludo vrti prolazi ti kroz vrata

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A myth about the origin of evil

And satan said:
‘Let there be a lie! ’
And there was a lie.
It hid in the stones
Sliding from above.

And satan said:
‘Let there be hypocrisy! ’
And there was hypocrisy.
It hid in the words
Waiting to speak up.
It covered itself with cobwebs
Spiders to feed.
It hid itself from itself.

And satan said:
‘Let there be poison! ’
And there was poison.
The devils waving their swords
Spilled it from a stormy breath.

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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My/Moj

A bit of being cut off from a memory
Echoes closely down the hall like nothing
Thoughts ajar in a big silence
Like a door I must not go through
Unfulfilled thoughts
Left to beat in somebody else’s wells

The moments dragged into nowhere
Through a glass pane pacified in memory
A shivering hope will unveil the veil
Open the eyes
My shadow across the sky
Who knows how many times
Will beg for everything
That doesn’t want to give in
Like a wave drowned in the sea of waiting
Tearful song it will cry
In the foam out of the foam
My newly born dawn

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sein uber Zeit

Rule the rulers flat lines of the brow
Hyper geometry in numero stones
Washed away numbers within a scarecrow
Compasses throne in spine and bones

Rule rage rule fear rule yes but not me
Rule global lobo rule multi hobo
Sein aber Zeit Sein uber Zeit
Sein uber Zeit I see

I ain’t no subject
I ain’t no object
I’m jellyfish free
No –ject at all
You cannot place
I’m neither big nor small

Rule sages rule over stages
Rule yes but morn is young
The sins of yin in burnts of yang

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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