Geometry of peace/Geometrija spokoja
Lost in the depths of our silence
There’s a single moment of peace
For which it is a gift to live
It’s turned into point at which
Beauty spelled universe laughs
It’s turned into a point at which
The spirit settles down
The one that governs the waters
Governs the soil and heavens
It’s turned into a monada
At one with the light
Uniquely addressed by love
A particle of life
It craves the lines of space
With which the universe draws
The features hinted at
And an inexpressibility unspotted by an eye
Framework canons harmony depicted
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Quite Subsidiary / Sasvim Pritocno
diary pages i never wrote
due to some unknown individual intuition
a friend once explained to me
which i never really understood
they keep oozing in front of my eyes
a trailer from a movie long forgot
a midsummer's heat
pronounced at the tip of my tongue
that does not remember the language
but is ready to outriver the numbers
sliding down the covers
there's a painting perhaps
that i've never been up to
and i will never paint
a draft made of eyes and ears void
staring right at me from the broken sky
that knows each piece of its shatteredness
foretold by the mirror
i normally use to put lipstick only
or merely draft my eyes so as not to forget them
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I sometimes think of all those apparently insignificant people
Who never find place in snobbish minds too busy to notice them
While they are playing with their intellectual marbles
Of concepts polished and syllogisms winding endlessly to no end deductions
Of too much info without a place to really fit but can serve the purpose
Of a metaphor the more unusual the better I guess
I sometimes think that those apparently insignificant people
Live full lives on anonymous addresses and keep and cherish their loves
Their family their children their values that no commercial placing them into
Nostra picolla vita our little life can ever really touch or ring a bell at their door
Behind which they are having a great time playing cards they borrowed
From their neighbours for they have no money to buy ones for themselves
Watching tv reading having coffee and just sitting
I am thinking of so many others who forgot what sitting was all about
I am thinking of those who always fit themselves into -few- category
Which gives them the right to feel above nostra picola vita and
Place mediocrisis labels on ‘little people's' back as some kind of punishment
And complain about being misunderstood or blaming the marbles
For not being the colour they are supposed to be on a given day
They started to academically roll in and down their overburdened brain
Perhaps I'm too harsh on those who dedicated their lives to serve
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Anonymous despair/Anonimni ocaj
'why are you looking for a charisma within yourself, stuffed bird
the possiblity of enlightment divides you endlessly
from craving a mission
the smell of earth concentrated circles of stupidity and ignorance
like rings
the further I don not understand
it looks to me like a dead sentinel' (Johny Shtulich)
bare in each star
that sharpens the knives of fear down the silver
to pour down into emptiness the keys without an opening
always somehow into wrong keyholes
an anonymous despair staggers behind the fragrance of deer
freedom is a horrible thing when you've got nowhere to go with it- isn't it
you'd rather exchange it for a cigarette smoke
bitter rakia from the spring of each drink
or her hands that now embrace the air
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Eyes/Oci
Like night butterflies spreading the wings
In the dance of light peaceful dark spread
Like the rhythm of rivers the water pulse
Opens the drо ps and the light beat shed
Unlocks the eyelids unlocks the windows
For a blink of light to raise a throne
When houses closed before the waking dawns
In wings eternal stopped by Chrone
О ч и
К о н о ћ н и л е п т и р и ш т о л е п е т о м к р и л а
У п л е с у с в ј е т л а м и р н и р а с к р и љ у ј у м р а к
К о р и т а м с в и х р и ј е к а в о д е н о г б и л а
О т в о р и к а п и о т к у ц а ј л а к
О т к љ у ч а к а п к е о т к љ у ч а п р о з о р е
Д а т р е п т а ј у с в ј е т л а п о д и г н у т р о н
К а д к у ћ е с к л о п љ е н е п р е д б у д н е з о р е
У к р и л у в ј е ч н о г з а у с т а в и Х р о н
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Pythia the Stunt/Pitija kaskaderka
she liked paranormal activities
and saw symbolic connections between
apparently unconnected things
thus a pebble accidentally kicked
by her middle class boots
got endless measures in cosmic dimensions
of issues de-accidentalized
she liked mysteries
she heard the deaths whispered
into her ears only
of close relatives and distant people
she saw
colours dropped into her dreams only
of sleepy impressionists
and silent expressionists
post mortem hanging in reproductions
oh one of so many one of so many
in her pastoral home
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Crazy I am I can bet on that/?? ???? ???? ???
You say I'm crazy
Crazy I am I can bet on that
So let me be…the way you say
May I live and be healthy
May I be crazy for many a year
May I surpass the paths all with myself
May I ever be my best friend
Am I plain to you…I am
So let me be that way
May you be forgiven me
Me and my lunacy
And a window unopened of my world
Pressed by your unmind
You say I'm obsessed
So what
Is your twilight perhaps
Darker because of that
Or you day is perhaps lighter
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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And that the thought was just another day/I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan
And that the thought was just another day
No one has said as yet
An unsaid one that cracks with the boughs
Still being dawned for a day to be
I knew for
The outbreak slippery among the fingers
Pours down the beads of sunbeams through the clouds
No one has said as yet
The sides of the world folded on a sheet of paper
An origami of unspreadedness
Unwritten hours sealed in emptiness
On the first geometry class where we will learn
We're perhaps a square with headless points
Marked ABCD
In an alphabet of beheaded words
No one has said as yet no one has dared
The distant counting of Euclid's vows
Xenon's accounts and Pythagoras' secrets
Hung around the neck of a bird
That due to gold of knowledge cannot fly
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Queen of Chance/Kraljica slucaja
To my sister friend Yelena, a star that shines for the others (2007)
With the smell of your own blood
Tuck the twilights into the nests
The birds will be awaken by it
Silently whisper into your ear
Please, smell us as well
With the hand that can be only yours
Draw the eyes and nose to the sun
And the lips spread into smile
Colour them with some child-like colour
That does not mare the nights
At night the stars will whisper
Into your ear only
Please, touch us as well
With the smell of your own hair
Embrace the waterfalls pour them into wells
Their glow will awake the drops
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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X-ray inferno
They called me to be an extra
They did not know I had a camera in my soul
For some all the worlds a stage
For some all the stage is the world
Wonder if the great one knew this
When he shook his spears
I was in between
Neither the real actor nor the real lifer
Perhaps this was each interpretation gave up
The stage I was standing on
I could not grasp the text even though I got it in time
Perhaps it was quite enough for a stage
Certainly not for a life
Act 1 and its main character
He had a face unto which
An invisible hand of law left the visible scars
A quite sufficient number of them for a drama
He had those eyes hesitating between comedy and tragedy
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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