Mit o postanku zla
I sotona rece:
'Neka bude laž! '
I bi laž.
Skrila se u kamenju
Pa sa visina sipa.
I sotona rece:
'Nek licemjerja bude! '
I bi licemjerje.
Skrilo se u rijecima
I ceka da progovori.
Pokrilo se paucinom
I pauke hrani.
Od samog sebe se skrilo.
I sotona rece:
'Nek otrova bude! '
I otrova bi.
Šejtani ga iz olujnog daha
Vitlajuc macem prosuli.
Nataložio se na zemlji
I njenim tokovima tece.
Skrio se u krvi.
I sotona rece:
'Da bude mržnja! '
I bi mržnja.
Prštala na sve strane
Kao krv koja ne može da se zgruša.
Šapama trigova hodala
Pa se i ona pod mahovinom
Na sjeveru lednom skrila.
I sotona rece:
'Neka bude covjek! '
I bi covjeka.
U laži i licemjerju se skrio
Otrovom ga mržnja ko mlijekom dojila.
Pirat se skrio u jedra umotan.
I bi covjeka
U zvijerima se skrio.
I sotona tece:
'Da misli da me nema! '
Ali tako ne bi
Bješe mu laž u pocetku rijeci.
Napisano 1989. rekonstruisano 2012-02-06.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Vodo ja sam samo ruka
Tek dodir što te vječnošću tka
Dodir od pjene bez riječi i zvuka
I plima što ti tajnu zna
Vodo uvijek te čekam kraj stijenja
I usta su mi ogrezla u soli
Tu solim ranu sopstvenog htijenja
Da kap me tvoja više ne boli
Da riječ bude nevina kao tvoja pjena
Da pije tvoja vina i bude tvoja sjena
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A descendant of fire
what became first - fire or ash
'you'll melt like a candle in a little pool of wax
a face sealed by the spirit of wax
you'll burn like thoughts on a bonfire of words
for you are the fire that burns itself'
an arsonist said with wax in his eyes
'in a homeless whisper you're a broken flamelet
in the time of fire that swallows itself'
but a particle of ash is a fire descendant
and to burn is its wisdom
šta je prvo nastalo - vatra ili pepeo
'istopiceš se ko svijeca u barici voska
duhom voska zapecacen lik
goreceš ko misli na lomaci rijeci
jer ti si vatra koja samu sebe prži
rece mi palikuca sa voskom u ocima
'u bezdomnom šapatu spaljeni žižak
u vremenu vatre koja samu sebe guta'
ali cestica pepela potomak je vatre
i da gori njena je mudrost
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Fire forever (Nafaka)
the rings of fire I’ll throw into the sky
let the twilight burn let it burn the night
the fires of souls down the river flow
fire and yesterday fire and tomorrow
fire forever
the thought of fire I’ll burn under my fingers
let the breath into the chains into the chains
let there be a fire
let there be a darkness
the morning in chains let it burn
hundreds of bracelets decorate the hands
what you can hear is the sound of their ashes
let them butn the touches into the dust
big fires upon the horizon
the fire of dawn
the fire of twilight
the fire of midnight
fire forever
and just two tiny earings of pain
on the ears to remain like little flames
cracking listening
for everything to go away
within a red memory
fire forever
and two tiny earings of pain
beyond a dusty curse in eternity to meet
let them burn in touch let them burn in passion
for everything broken in suffering to go away
fire forever
vatra zauvijek
prstenja od vatre u nebesa bacicu
da gori sumrak da gori noc
pozari dusa niz velike rijeke neka poteku
vatra i juce vatra i danas vatra i sutra
vatra zauvijek
pod prstima sprzicu misao vatre
u lance u lance neka ide dah
neka bude pozar
neka bude mrak
neka sagori u okovima jutro
narukvica sto neka kiti ruke
to sto zvecka pepeo je njihov
zvukom da sagore dodiri do praha
pozari veliki na horizontu
pozar svitanja pozar sumraka pozar ponoci
vatra zauvijek
i dvije male mindjuse od bola
na usima neka ostanu ko plamicak
od svjetla neka se sastavi
slusanje pucketanje
da nestane sve u crvenom sjecanju
vatra zauvijek
i dvije male mindjuse od bola
nad urokom od praha neka se sastave u vjecnost
dodirom neka sagore strascu da se sprze
da nestane sve patnjom satrveno
vatra zauvijek
velika vatra prociscenja
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For this is the way life always begins/Jer tako uvijek pocinje zivot
The night I took away your blues
To spill it behind you as a sign of good luck
You said- your iris- your iris quivering
It stole a dropp right from a well
To kiss place it on my lower lip
The tip of you fingers
To lightly touch the upper one
To draw them both within a smile
You said- there are teeth behind
Whose bite times ago foretold a mark on your neck
And there's a tongue fear snake
Stumbling upon drunken deceptions
Taking off its sagacity skins incurably
I asked- is love a sickness
Insufficiently recorded in medical documents of slow death
And is your name the fountain of health
The word inexhaustible that the sky said is allowed to drink
And should be drunk three times a day
And on the seventh take some rest from water
You said-yes love is a sickness still
Naively overcome under alchemists' gowns
But our names are the food of health
Bread basic the sky said is to be eaten
The meals of the morn noon and eve each day
And on the seventh the crumbs of unrest
Oversleep in each morsel
For this is how each life begins
One noći kad sam ti uzela plavetnilo
Da ga ko vodu za sreću za tobom prospem
Reče-tvoja zjena-tvoja zjena treperava
Kap iz bunara ukrala je
Na donu usnu poljpcem da je stavi
Gornju lagano ovori
Vrhom prstiju obje u osmjeh iscrta
Reče- iza su mi zubi
Kojima ujed jednom davno
Obreče trag na tvome vratu
I jezik što strahom zmijom zapliće obmane pijane
I košuljice mudrosti skida neizlječivo
Pitah- da li je ljubav bolest uvijek nedovoljno zapisana
U medicinskim spisima laganog umiranja
I ime tvoje jeli zdijenac zdavlja
Nepresušna riječ što nebo reče da pitka je
Da piti je treba tri puta na dan
A sedmog se od vode odmoriti
Reče- da ljubav je bolest
Još uvijek naivno preboljevana
Pod ogrtačima alhemičara
A imena naša hrana su zdravlja
Hljen nasušni što nebo reče za jesti je
Obroke jutra podneva večeri svakoga dana
A sedmog mrve svog nemira
U svakom zalogaju prespavati
Jer tako uvijek počinje život
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Zdravo, Moje Ime Je Sara
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.
Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.
Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.
Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Being
a being sentenced to be a measure of the universe
is a marginal artist always at the edge
of a 'neath beyond abyss
biće osuđeno da bude mjera svemira
je marginalni unjetnik uvijek na ivici
pod nad zemnog ponora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A marginal artist-Marginalni umjetnik
a being sentences to be a measure of a universe
is a marginal artist always on the edge
of a 'neath-beyond-abyss
bice osudjeno da bude mjera svemira
je marginalni umjetnik uvijek na ivici
pod-nad-zemnog ponora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beside the ashes of an hour/Kraj pepela od sata
You said -it is seven o'clock
And this has not been filled yet
And this hour still strikes the night-
-Here's a moment here's a moment-
A Sunbeam is whispering
-Come one build it a home
A mole builds a dam against the rivers and currents
A bird builds a best from salvation straws
Humans build the houses themselves the windows and the doors
Re-paint the cave
Beside the ashes of an hour
Reče sedam je sati
A urna ova još nije puna
A ura ova još kuca noć
Evo trena evo trena
Šapuće Sunčev zrak
Hajde gradi mu dom
Ko krtica brane spram rijeka i toka
Ko ptica gnijezda od slamčica spasa
Ko čovjek kuće sebe okna vrata
Pećinu nanovo oslikaj
Kraj pepela od sata
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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San O Letu
da on je znao ko mu je tkao
ko mu je tkao carobni sag
on nikad ne bi ni njemu ni sebi
stopalom ljudskim sazido prag
da sunce je znalo sve tajne kobi
sve tajne jednog suncanog sata
reklo bi ne kupi mrve zivota
hajde razuzdaj krilatog ata
da on je htio sna biti dio
on ne bi pio s otrovom svijet
vjecno bi snio vjecno bi snio
da zauvujek bude sa pticom let
1994.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hello, my name is Sarah
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is not
Who never is
These are the hands for my embraces
Mutilated in emptiness
Husked in the rings at twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They are writing a history of a plastic toy
Buried in the tombs of childhood
That never grew towards a cradle.
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is trying to be
These are the feet for my steps.
Frozen in the paths
Tied by tinkling jewelerry
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They walk the streets that there are no more
The streets trodden by mere silhouettes of paths
They go down the wells
To strangle in them
A swimming hope for the end.
My name is Sarah.
I am the one who wants.
This is the neck for your hands.
Slightly touch.
It's tied in thousands of necklaces
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
The darkness greedily eats
The circles I push the dreams into
I let it touch.
It's all right.
My name is Sarah.
I am the one who does not consent.
This is the hair for my plaits.
The silver ribbons
And shiny pearls at twilight I take off
And throw it into the dark.
It's all right.
I have broken all the rules
I have broken cliches
Magic circles
I tore the pages
On which
They try to write my fate.
I am Sarah
I am the one who is not
I am the one who is always
Only trying to be
I am the one who wants
I am the one who does not consent
I am always eternity tied
In pouring moments
I am the hope died for the end
I am the one who wants to understand
I am the one who does not always understand
But I AM.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.
Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.
Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.
Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pola
istine na zemlji od čovjeka tek pola
pola života tragamo za njom
drugu polovinu bježimo od nje
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Šta tece sad
šta tece sad
pomisli rijeka
suznoga oka razjapljen slap
i kuda ide
i koga ceka
s ugaslog oka zapaljena kap
i s cim se miri
i za cim cezne
kad zamre u sjenci korita
i kojem bicu
dok duša grezne
sa mreže dlana misao cita
i koga sanja
i koga voli
i kojem izvoru žurno hrli
s ledom u srži
kada zaboli
mije li sebe
dali me grli
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hod
Hodi tmina čari tmurne
Daha presječenog
Tu je jutrom zora gurne
Od sna nerečenog
Hodi podne nebu sunca
Noći gaze svijetom
Sve pepelno sebe bunca
Sebe zove prvim letom
Hodi čovjek šume guste
Zgazile ga vode
Gdje ga tope suze puste
Tu ga tuge hode
Hodi ptica sinja mora
Hodi nebo oblak tmast
Hodi tmasto do izvora
Da utopi hoda vlast
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona kucaju preko lanaca od straha
Kucaju tiho kucaju glasno
Ona kucaju preko života do praha
Kucaju neč ujno kucaju jasno
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona se proljeć em otvaraju ko cvijet
Cvjetaju tiho preko vode polja
Ona se ruše i grade ko svijet
Što spašen reč e tvoja sam volja
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona tiho gasnu ko svijeć e nad grobom
Sumrakom ranim na vjetru od riječ i
I tiho se bude pod skutom sa tobom
Melemom ljubavi srce da se liječ i
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Kucaju nevino u kolijevci od krvi
Smrti se ne daju a humkom zidana
Da svjetlost vide kad dan im prvi
Ozari srca rukom tvojom vidana
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona kucaju preko lanaca od straha
Kucaju tiho kucaju glasno
Ona kucaju preko života do praha
Kucaju neč ujno kucaju jasno
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im going to bring it
I’m gonna bring truth to the lies
My home country is asking why
I heard its gonna be alright to many times
Here I’m left with nothing but my rhymes
Time to let god unfold
Cuz it’s a fuc*ed up world
Car to car
Gun to gun
Man to man
Bullet to your head
Cuz bit*hes like you die many times before their dead
So listen to what I said
In my eyes
Guilty is what you just plead
Steal from your people
If I had the chance id leave you cripple
Leaving us making 5 bucks an hour
For some one with a masters
You are not nothing but cowards
All you mother fu*king bastards
poem by Cristian Bude
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Ja nisam gost
ja nisam gost ovom tihom času
kad kiša za mene gorku kapju sprema
ne priznajem pad ni kad postoji zagrljaj
što će me odnijeti rijekama do ušća
i neću kraj kad od ničeg nije
ja hoću tok kretanje smisla
da raširim sjene i kad znanja nema
s njima da se igram i tako pomjerim
grafitu granice zida
ja nisam gost već domaćin kraj dovratka
što pod strehom stanuje od samog početka
na trijemu gdje čeka na stubu oslonjen
i ćutke gleda u noć
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you want...
If you want a human to disappear
Plant an ape into an evolution tree
Ako hocete da zatrete covjeka
Posadite majmuna u drvo evolucije
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you turn the other page of a cheek/Kad okreces drugu stranicu obraza
When you turn the other page of a cheek
A slap of morn written abyss down your neck
A glove that you lift right from the floor
To throw it into the face of the tree swallowers
That keep growing faster than the boughs
Up to the sky lid in the cauldron of each word
Does it ever come to your mind
What it is there that bursts out in a dream
Do you then think of streets those winding snakes
With their tongue dipped into the poison paths
The buses that turn questionless to a wheel
Insanity spinning both Alladin and the lamp
A sign post in the dark
Do you then think of the houses windows and doors
And heart beats facing the gate of the entrance
As if it was the first time to come into a human
Not knowing whether the host was inside
Do you then think those thoughts from the threshold of pain
Making way to earth mother dust and death
To rest all your thoughts at the end of the road
When the earth bursts out and leaves you with no breath
Kad okreceš drugu stranicu obraza
šamar jutra ispisan brazdama do vrata
rukavicu koju podižeš sa poda
i bacaš u lice gutacima drveca
što rastu brže od granja
do poklopca neba u kotlu svake rijeci
pomisliš li nekad šta puca u snu
misliš li tad na ulice krivudave zmije
s jezikom umocenim u otrov puta
autobuse pretocene u tocak bez pitanja
što bezumno okrece Aladina i lampu
putokaz u mraku
misliš li tad na kuce prozore i vrata
na lupanje srca pred kapijom na ulaz
kao da prvi put ulaziš u covjeka
a ne znaš da li je domacin unutra
misliš li misli sa praga bola
što put krce zemlji majci od praha
da na kraju puta odmoriš sve misli
kada zemlja pukne i kad ostaneš bez daha
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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(My Mother) Retirement Plans
“When I grow old, ” said my mother, “I’ll change my life.
I’ll rent a garret on the Left Bank of the Seine
in Paris, give up being a mother and a wife,
spend my days painting, drink red wine all night,
my friends will be artists - maybe I’ll write.
“But what about Dad? ” I objected.
My mother reflected.
“He’ll be okay, ” she said.
“He’ll buy a djellabi, sandals, a scarab
and live in the desert, along with the Arabs.
He’s learning the lingo at evening class.
He’ll go over to Gaza” – I thought, what a gas!
I’d spend April in Paris, winter with Dad –
there was going to be some fun to be had!
I hoped that my parents’ dreams all would come true –
but after all that they just moved down to Bude!
poem by Janice Windle
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What Made The Breathing So Soft And So Silent-Ono Što Je Uč İ nilo Disanje Tako Mekanim İ Tako Tihim
when the pillows choked a feather made dream
was the sound of the wells mute to the light of day
their water still dripping right through my hands
not a single dropp could contain the thought
ono što je uč inilo disanje tako mekanim i tako tihim
kad su jastuci ugušili paperjasti san
bješe zvuk bunara nijemih za svjetlost dana
njihova mi voda još teč e kroz šake
nijedna kap nije mogla da uhvati misao
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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