I (Under) Stood There
I stood there
understood there
a moment
of writing butterflies
onto the grass bladed skin
forever gone
the remnants patched the sadness
the scar upon the face of an early rise
when no one heard
how flowers were screaming
at many coloured people
with many shaded talks
just passing by
with multiple eyes
resting on some play else
till they found
a grasshopper way behind
the starting line of all their races
who merely hopped and made no traces
with too many hands clocked
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Ister Girl/Djevojka sa Istera
He’s gone never seen my heart
Do you hear me Vesna
Do stop your walk
In Ister gone never heard his voice
Do you hear me Vesna
Do stop you walk
This love has love has
Swayed the woods for me
Entangled my hair
His kisses like gallop horses
Are coming back to me
I’ve been loved with the love of the wind
Look, it’s all written on the eyelashes
Each word eyes closing into a dream
And in this dream I cried
And in this dream I touched
With a mourn black dress of mine
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Granny dreamt what Granny liked
she thought she was in some kind of Paris
some kind of Venice or a Granade
but OMG this poor Granny
was walking in a dying beauty shade
still Granny dreamt what Granny liked
and there she wore the clothes so smarty
a lot of make up and accessoir
and there she went to a botox party
she took a cab it was too far
'coz Granny dreamt what Granny liked
this absent minded little resident
with shoes expensive but mind in rags
granny voted all smiling presidents
i guess for too many colourful flags
'coz Granny dreamt what Granny liked
she had fruits to chew and meat to mince
a lover's smile and artficial teeth
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Parameter Shortfall
165cm x 50 kg
Big brown eyes
Too big for a face
Two legs two arms
Body forty
Vital
Looking younger
Surrogate to change
Sensitive to soul growth
IE lg core
Satem parameter
Serbian version
Balkan geography turbulent
Rich diverse multitude
Heals Balkan pain shots
With Balkan ethno balm
Understanding sought
A bunch of professions
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Infinity...the size of my embrace
A trace of light trodden upon
The red dawn haunting the crossroads of the step
Among the treetops nestling forebodings
Among the boughs the fruit naked in sorrow
Another spring the chesnut blooms twice
Another spring a cherry tree no fruit delivers
The flower's hunting the webs of an evil beginning
Will you come to me in the unsigthed hours
Be open among the handclocks and put on a cross
For long heartbeaten like a bell from the church
The song reverberating through the universe
An infinity circled within a rainbow
The size of my embrace
Beskraj...velič ine mog zagrljaja
Ugažen trag svjetlosti
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You're an ancient walker
You're an ancient walker down the pallid walls of silence
Who likes to creep in all horror stories in design
There are so many things I hate about you
As they look like too much of myself
But unlike me you can't change your faces from morn to eve
And unlike me you sometimes
Neatly wear your mind where your heart should be
With a repelling urge to push things into words
Only because you want them to survive
Only because you want to survive
At the expense of the world crumbling down
Just to fit the measure of the simile you normally get stuck in
Perfectly aware that a is not b since a long time ago
That a cannot be b no matter how hard you try
To shift it back into a mythos time
Revive in vacuum reanimation
Your own heart when softly you lick
Those wounds that only you understand and care about
And when despair driven you want them to survive
For it may mean that you will survive as well
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You can't swear on the heart
that beats on descriptions
the paper only can stand
and is fed by a bloodstream of words running wild
years back someone tried to put
new sinews between your bones and muscles
but they did not know you'd become an implant
and that there was a microchip of nothingness
inserted somewhere in your spine
so that your nightmare could walk on silver screens
half way between you and yourself
meeting each other on a bridge
that testifies both a crossing and a departure
years back someone tried to write you down
in the rule of silence
but they did not know that you had already become one
that speaks louder than words
leaning on all facets of interpretation coins
cast into the fountains of the first and last of wishes
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Good night
Is a broken street
The one cut like suicidal veins
Or arteries streets
Someone said
‘It’s hard to find meaningful good conversation in this town’
Others were silent
Rocking their chairs under so much something inside
Or against the graffiti wall
Some were there in an institution
Some were there in the parks
A santa smiled merry commericial christmass smile
Oh which need oh which we need so much
A painter nuts splashed his paint across the sky
Saying ‘now I see it’s good
Now I can surf this sky lol’
An art of dealer was crying his death
‘Let’s get out of here
Go some place with
What money we have
Buy some toys for the children
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Delete (Nafaka)
What a morning said
I do not remember
What happened yesterday
I do not remember
Cruelty of sunrise
I do not remember
The drama of entrance
I do not remember
The drama of exit
I do not remember
The tragedy of being cried
I do not remember
The comedy of being laughted
I do not remember
Putting on sense into the shoes
I do not remember
Putting on the morning into a little shirt of light
The hair unleashed in front of the mirror
The roads that tread on their own steps
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Our stars have trodden all the milk paths
our stars have trodden all the milk paths
spilled like dust for the souls to split
heaven and earth and the hell in stones cast
learn every single pebble in its aftermaths
murmuring through the galaxy that fails
at first whispers stricken by the lip crack - its holes
breathing stardust sucked in the mouth - its halls
mastering the silence and all its ways
still there we stood
still there we could
talk to the trees and survive uncut
by the grass swords wet with a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
they rained they crashed they touched the soil
chained in the castles talking through the walls
settled in our bodies spirit sealed forgiven
the first day of silence the first evil word
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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