This is not my face/Ovo nije moje lice
This is not my face
This thing oozing out of your insipid reflection theories
When you're putting it into A is A A is B B is C
You know
C is maybe a newly born naked
Syllogism pointing at a tzar
So that you can ask him ask him
‘Tzar tzar oh master tell us what's the time'
And the tzar cannot hear you for he's got a goat's ears
This is not my face
This thing you're folding after you've ironed it
And placed it among the skirts trousers and shirts
You know
A shirt is perhaps a flag of my home
Put on a post to limit the borders of pain
So that you may ask it ask it
‘Does it hurt does it hurt tell us what's the time'
And the pain cannot hear you for its ears are cut
This is not my face
This thing you're turning to see it from each side
Whenever you turn it from A to B from B to C
You know
C is perhaps just a point without a face
Thrown into the universe
A monada looking for the Father
Why don't you take your reflections home
Ovo nije moje lice
To što curi iz bljutavih teorija odraza
Kada ga sklapate u A je A, A je B, B je C
Znate
C je možda ko od majke roden
Silogizam što upire prstom u cara
Pa ga pita pa ga pita
Care care o gospodare ko'ko ima sati
A car ne cuje jer ima kozje uši
Ovo nije moje lice
To što sklapate poslije peglanja
Medu suknje pantalone i košulje
Znate
Košulja je možda zastava moga doma
Na kolac nabijena da omedi bol
Da ga pitate da ga pitate
'Boli li boli li koliko je sati'
A bol ne cuje jer su mu odsjecene uši
Ovo nije moje lice
To što okrecete da se iz svih uglova vidi
Kadgod ga okrecete od A do B od B do C
Znate C je možda
Samo tacka bez lica
Bacena u svemir
Monada što traži Oca svog
Zašto ne nosite svoje odraze kuci
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Last night
Last night I asked the drop
what nobody had dared to ask before
I said
come on, isn't it time you washed my face
isn't it time you stopped falling in tears
isn't it time for me to drink you
isn't it time for you to touch me
isn't it time for me to see the world within you
come on, what are you waiting for
why don't you finally fall down
that was the rage of a dead chicken
Sinoc sam rekla kaplji
sto joj niko ranije nije smio reci
rekla sam
hajde, nije li vrijeme da me umijes
nije li vrijeme da suzom prestanes
nije li vrijeme da te popijem
nije li vrijeme da dotaknes
nije li vrijeme da u tebi sagledam svijet
hajde sta cekas
zasto vec jednom prosto ne kanes
bio je to bijes mrtvog pileta
Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Waiting for you /Cekanje na tebe
The midnight toll in the clock
Maybe Sunday maybe never
I spit the pigeon onto my palm
A crying handprint
A second silenced within a hope
Maybe Sunday maybe never
Maybe Sunday maybe never
Cekanje na tebe
Ponoc je kucala u satu
Mozda nedelja mozda nikad
Ispljunut golup na dlanu
Proplakan otisak
Utihnut nadanjem cas
Mozda nedelja mozda nikad
Mozda nedelja mozda nikad
2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That's not it-To nije to
Excuse me sir
You look like someone I've met before
And I am sure it is like that
I'm sure everyone has met everyone before
In what's called preceding lives
Do you believe in that sir
I mean those karmas
Moving along cyclic zodiacs
Made of illiterate stars
Sounds quite familiar to me
A life through trials and errors
I think sir
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
(Do not worry you don't have to give me any
Of your monthly revenue
I am not that kind of a beggar)
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
And look at those divinely entangled lines
So cryptic
That are supposed to determine my fate
I think there's got to be some mistake there
That they are not there to determine me
But to tell me that this palm belongs to me only
That I am just like you sir
A creature born once a creature divine
Unrepeatable and free
For most when I outstretch the palm of my hand
To see my own geometry of the universe
Or to turn it into a fist
To strike the face of Fortune
Then I think sir
For sure we've all met before
In the faces of Adam and Eve
Hitting their foreheads against the ground
Once they vaguely hinted the Heaven is perhaps
Nothing but a wholeness of a soul in unity with its Creator
And Hell the lack of the same thing
Yes I am sure we've met before
In the face of Christ crucified on the cross
That redeemed us through his blood
For a dream in which an Idiot
Will not have to find a compartment
In which he would, with a roomful of thoughts
In his head just like me right now,
He would not have to repeat
That's not it that's not it until he cannot
Thinking perhaps about those marbles of lifeful life
Whose glimmer fades away once they break out on the surface
To dry in the fire of their own eyes
Thinking that's not it that's not it
Meaning perhaps those insipid theories
Endlessly talked about in a leisure
Of some nice first class trains
Journey through Switzerland
Theories endlessly repeated at some nice
Comfortable places just on a pass by through life
In a conversation with an art dealer
Theories made official through some nicely polished clear expression
So clear that one could die of clarity
And nothing would be said about an idiot
Sir we look so far away
So far away from Adam that's been met before lying in our bones
The way the trains suicidely lie on the rails of expulsion
So far away from Eve and her snake
Winding like a steam of a train
Of a great invention that has perhaps only been brained out
So that an Idiot in a first class train
Travelling through Switzerland
Could keep repeating that's not it that's not it
We look so far away from them
And still keep hitting our foreheads against the ground
That's not it that's not it sir
Sorry for stopping you
What I actually wanted to ask you is
Which street we're in
And if you know what my name is
And if it's ever too late to know ourselves
(Note: Idiot, a novel by Fjodor Michailowitsch Dostojewski)
To nije to
Izvinite gospodine
Izgledate kao neko koga sam vec srela
I sigurno je tako
Sigurno smo sreli
U onome što zovu prethodnim životima
Vjerujete li vi u to
Mislim u te karme
Što se krecu po ciklicnim zodijacima
Nastalih od nepismenih zvijezda
Jedan zivot putem pokušaja i pogrešaka
Zvuci mi sasvim poznato
Mislim gospodine
To znate kada ispružim dlan
(ne brinite nista ne morate da mi date
Od svog mjesecnog prihoda
Ja nisam takva prosjakinja
Kada ispružim dlan
I pogledam sve te linije
Božanstveno isprepletene i kripticne
Koje treba da mi odrede sudbinu
Mislim da tu postoji neka greška
Da one nisu tu da me odrede
Vec da mi kažu da ovaj dlan
Pripada samo meni
Da sam kao i vi gospodine
Jednom rodena božanska
Neponovljiva i slobodna licnost
I to najviše onda kada ispružim dlan
Da vidim sopstvenu geometriju svemira
Ili kada ga stisnem u pesnicu
Ne bih li zadala udarac Fortuni
Ja mislim gospodine
Da sasvim sigurno svi smo se vec negdje sreli
U licu Adama i Eve što lupaju celom u zemlju
Kad naslutili su da raj možda nije ništa drugo
Do cjelovitost duše sa njenim Tvorcem
A pakao nedostatak iste
Da sasvim sigurno
Svi smo se vec jednom sreli
U licu Hrista raspetog na krstu
Što krvlju nas svojom uvijek iznova iskupljuje
Za san u kome jedan Idiot
Nece morati da pronadje kupe
U kom bi sa punom sobom misli
Baš kao ja sad do iznemoglosti ponavljao
To nije to to nije to
Misleci možda na rijeci klikere živog života
Što gube sjaj kada isplivaju na površinu
Da se suše u vatri sopstvenih ociju
Misleci na to nije to to nije to
Misleci možda na ucmale teorije života
Što se ispredaju dokono u finim vozovima
Prve klase u prolazu kroz Švajcarsku
I ponavljaju sve po nekim finim udobnim mjestima
U prolazu kroz život
U razgovoru sa trgovcem umjetnickih djela
Ozvanicene putem nekog finog ispoliranog jasnog izraza
Toliko jasnog da ce da se umre od razgovjetnosti
A ništa o Idiotu nece reci
Kako smo daleko gospodine
Kako smo daleko od tog Adama
Što sretosmo ga ranije u kosti nam ulego
Onako kao vozovi samoubilacki leže
Na šinama izgnanosti
Daleko od te Eve i njene zmije
Što se izvija kao para voza
Velikog izuma
Koji je možda izmozgan samo da jedan Idiot
U finom vozu prve klase na putovanju kroz Švajcarsku
Tiho ponavljao to nije to to nije to
Kako samo izgledamo daleko od njih
A i dalje lupamo celom o zemlju
To nije to to nije to gospodine
Izvinite što sam vas zaustavila
U stvari sam samo htjela da vas pitam
U kojoj sam sada ulici
Dali možda znate kako se zovem
I dali je ikada kasno da spoznamo sebe
Napomena: Idiot, roman Fjodora Mihailovica Dostojevskog
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Moje misli tvoje misli
Isprepletene
Moje tvoje misli
Nedorečene
Moje tvoje misli
Samo puke sjene
Misle svoje misli
Bez tebe i mene
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Picaro turns her face towards the sun
…chameleon like chiseled in a rock rock chained pours the rainbow colours the silent sky reflections where to think is if I was a tree I would turn my leaves to you so that you can mirror yourself in the streams of written currents if I were a butterfly I would turn my wings to you so that you can wing yourself in warmth from the hands an embrace to you if I had hands I would repeat the digging up of the wells which your light has not as yet reached if I was the light I would be faster than a thought if I had a thought from you I would make it a gift to the face cut in years towards death if I had a face I would not be a picaro of self an unoverstepped hurdle at the threshold of an entrance…I’ve got nothing.
Pikaro okreć e lice ka suncu
...kameleonski uzidan u stijenu stijenom rpikovan preliva dugine boje tihe odraze neba gdje misliti je da sam drvo okrenula bih lice ka tebi da se ogledaš u potocima ispisanog toka da sam leptir okrenula bih krila ka tebi da se raskriliš toplinom od ruku zagrljaj da imam ruke ponovila bih kopanja bunara gdje svjetlost tvoja stigla nije da sam svjetlost bila bih brža od misli da imam misao od tebe poklonila bih je licu što mu godine urezuju smrt da imam lice ne bih bila pikaro sopstva nepreskoč ena prepreka na pragu ulaska...Nemam ništa.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Moje Ruke
moje ruke ćute
tvoje ruke govore
moje usne stežu riječi
tvoje ruke grče ćutnju
moje oči sklap i znak
tvoje ruke dlan i mrak
moje tijelo kaže
sviće dan
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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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
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Someone Not You/Neko Ko Nije Ti
someone not you
someone not me
someone not us
someone long ago
somewhere quite close
they weaved the curse
someone long ago
somewhere quite close
they dug a grave
someone not you
someone not me
they know
who that was
who within us
slapped the dawn
neko ko nije ti
neko ko nije ja
neki koji nisu mi
neko nekada davno
negdje sasvim blizu nas
ispleo je kob
neko nekada davno
negdje sasvim blizu nas
kopao je grob
neko ko nije ti
neko ko nije ja
zna
ko su ti
koji su u nama
osamarili svitanje
1993.
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
No one has shaped as yet
A mathematical axiom at the top part of an operational table
Edged by formulae algorhithms
By which Reason the mother of order
Protectively hides the chaos of the possible
We'll be silent about the tents
Under which we've hidden security particles
Precious dust of knowledge in the urn light we'll store
We'll be silent about the warm blankets of thoughts
Covering dreams in an early morning
The marbles of small deceptions the spherical many colouring
We could be stolen them all
And to stand like nothing facing the loveless world
Only Love can do
Who we've never been enough
I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan
Niko rekao nije
Nedorečen što s granjem puca
A za riječ osvanut znala sam jer
Svanuće klizavo medj prstima
Brojanice sunčevih zraka kroz oblake sipa
Niko nije rekao
Na listu papira presavijene stranice svijta
Origami neotklopljenosti
Neispisivanjem sati zapečaćen u prazno
Na prvom času geometrije gdje saznaćemo
Da možda smo samo naučen kvadrat obezglavljenih tjemena
Obilježenih ABVG
Azbukom odrubljene riječi
Niko nije rekao niko nije smio
Daleka prebrojavanja Euklidovih zavjeta
Zenonovih računa Pitagorinih tajni
O vrat ptice obješenih
Što od zlata znanja otežala ne može da leti
Niko nije oblikovao
Matematički aksiom na vrhu operacionog stola
Oivičen formulama algoritmima
Kojim Razum majka reda vješto prikriva
Haos mogućeg
Prećutaćemo šatore pod kojim
Skrili smo truni sigurnosti
Dragocjeni prah saznanja u urnu laku pohraniti
Prećutaćemo toplu ćebad misli
U rano jutro snom pokriveni
Klikere sitnih obmana male šarene sferičnosti
Sve bi mogli nam ukrasti
A stajati k'o ništa spram svijeta bez ljubavi
Može samo Ljubav
Koja nikad dovoljno nismo
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The tree I am/ Ja sam drvo
The tree I am
Sideroad’s heart
My words in leaves
They touch the ground
The river I am
A beat in veins
My words in a drop
A swallowed water
The cloud I am
A written sky
Quote me not
The night is eavesdropping
Ja sam drvo
Srce krajputaša
Moje riječ i u lišć u
Dotič u tlo
Ja sam rijeka
U venama dodir
Moje riječ i u kapi
Progutana voda
Ja sam oblak
Ispisano nebo
Ne citiraj me
Prisluškuje noć
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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She Wants A Sky/Ona Hoce Nebo
That sky where there is the sky
Unchained
Unlimited by the borders of the sky
She wants the face with a smile
And the hair unsigned by ash
And the bones that do not testify
The pain of an unslept night
Ona hoć e nebo
Ono nebo gdje ima neba
Raskovanog
Granicom neba nesputanog
Ona hoć e lice sa osmjehom
I kosu nepotpisanu pepelom
I kosti koje ne svjedoč e
O bolu neprospavane noć i
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A discovery/Otkrice
From behind all the twilights and evening shadows
Under all the covers
And you who do the night rims vigils
Under all sand clocks
And far from those who chase
The windmills of their won restlessness
From behind all the silences hidden within themselves
From behind all the words hidden within themselves
That we were silent with
I took out a flame a fire of the being
It's not the doors locked by the mind
It's not by the mind
Those are not the loves plundered by a heart
Those are not the creatures dried out by the heart
It's not the heart hunt but it's with the heart
It's you and I
And she and he
Those breathings there and these breathings here
That breathe in life everywhere and forever
And they are never now
Oh if we were now how could we be
Otkrice
Iza svih sutona i vecernjih sjenki
Ispod svih pokrivaca
I vas nocobdija okorjele noci
Ispod svih pješcanih satova
I dalje od onih što ganjaju
Vjetrenjace sopstvenih nemira
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih cutanja
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih rijeci kojima smo cutali
Izvukla sam plamen
Oganj samog bice
To nisu umom zakljucana vrata
To nije umom
To nisu srcem poharane ljubavi
To nisu srcem ispijena bica
To nije lov srca no srcem je
To smo ti i ja
I ona tamo i ova ovdje disanja
Što životom dišu svugdje i zauvijek
I nikada u sada
O da smo sada kako bismo bili
1995.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Fotografija
fotografija
boze,
sta da napisem o tome.
to volim da radim,
ponekad od toga zivim.
kad u to gledam:
ponekad sam tuzan,
ponekad sam srecan.
drago lice
vidim kao da je tu.
ruzno,
okrenem, izbrisem
i kao da nije bilo tu.
to je magija
koja vjecno traje.
boze,
samo je vazno da znam
sta ne mogu slikati.
BEOGRAD,
19.08.2011
5.35 PM
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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How to interpret a porcelain plate/Kako protumaciti porcelanski tanjir
This perfectly shaped porcelain plate is the result of human effort to put into a circle everything he can. So that he can undisturbed roar to the future centuries DO NOT TOUCH MY CIRCLES. It is carved in its own possibility of being shaped, absolutely aware of its fragility but does not give up. Absolutely capable of defending the borders of its own identity. This approach is a must if you want to understand a plate. You can also use it in the course of self knowledge.
The second step comprises the possibility to put something in a plate. Whatever you are preparing for your feast do not forget that you are the person who will have to eat everything that's there in the plate. Because when you start eating something you have to eat the whole meal. If you break this rule you will violate a harmonious definition of a meal. And then perhaps you will not get a desert. In many cases it makes no difference what's there in a plate. An important thing is that there is some content. The hungry know that best.
KAKO PROTUMACITI PORCELANSKI TANJIR
Ovaj savrseno oblikovan porcelanski tanjir rezultat je ljudskog pregnuca da sve sto moze sabije u krugove. I da nesmetano onako ljudski urla buducnim vremenima Ne dirajte moje krugove. On je izbrazdan sopstvenom mogucnoscu oblikovanja, u potpunosti svjestan svoje krhkosti i lomljivosti ali odoljeva. U potpunosti sposoban da brani granice svog identiteta. Ovakav pristup je neprikosnoven ukoliko zelite da shvatite tanjir. Mozete ga primjenjivati i prilikom samoupoznavanja.
Drugi korak sastoji se u tome da u tanjir nesto stavite. Stagod spremate za gozbu ne zaboravite da ste upravo vi osoba koja ce morati da pojede sve sto je stavila u tanjir. Jer kad nesto zajedete onda morate da jedete do kraja. Ukoliko prekrsite ovo pravilo narusicete skladnu definiciju obroka. I mozda necete dobiti dezert. U velikom broju slucajeva potpuno je nevazno sta sacinjava sadrzaj tanjira. Vazno je da ima sadzaja. Gladni to najbolje znaju.
A Little School of Interpretation- …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Quote Me Not/Ne Citiraj Me
The tree I am
Sideroad’s heart
My words in leaves
They touch the ground
The river I am
A beat in veins
My words in a drop
A swallowed water
The cloud I am
A written sky
Quote me not
The night is eavesdropping
Ja sam drvo
Srce krajputaša
Moje riječ i u lišć u
Dotič u tlo
Ja sam rijeka
U venama dodir
Moje riječ i u kapi
Progutana voda
Ja sam oblak
Ispisano nebo
Ne citiraj me
Prisluškuje noć
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Let me be today (Nafaka)
Tomorrow I will die
There’s still some time to go
Let go of me today
There’s a sky I’ve got to kiss
Tomorrow I will cry
Today I’ve got to seize the day
It’ll slip away into oblivion
Today I’ve got to step out of the circle
It’s not my time to leave
To drag the soul out of the shells
I want to know everything
But this is not the day to ask
Let go of me today
I need to be one with everything
I’ll part some other day
Let go of me one more day
It’s not my time yet
I’ll die another one
NEKA ME DANAS
umrijecu sutra
ima jos vremena
Pustite me danas
moram da poljubim nebo
plakacu sutra
danas treba da uhvatim dan
skliznuce u zaborav
Danas moram da izadjem iz kruga
nije mi jos vrijeme da odem
da izvucem dusu iz skoljki
Hocu sve da znam
ali nije dan da pitam
Neka me danas
treba da se stopim
rastacu se nekog drugog dana
Pustite me jos danas
nije mi jos vrijeme
umrijecu neki drugi put
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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My Name Is Moonlight
And these stars they are the children of my kiss
They burn the light of my hiding place
They twinkle the shine of my disappearance
My name is the path of Earth
Galaxy chosen spot of love
Fed by heaven’s milk my place of origin
Each dropp a trae of my disappearance
My name is the Sun light
A moment buried in the sundial
It runs gold arrayed time
Eternity carried a waiting away
Moje ime je Mjeseč ev sjaj
A zvjezde su ove djeca mog poljupca
Ona gore svjetlost mog skrovista
Ona sjaje mog nestanka trag
Moje ime je Zemljin put
Galaksijama birana tač ka ljubavi
Mlijekom neba hranjena postojbina moja
Svaka je kap mog nestanka trag
Moje ime je sunč eva svjetlost
U pješč anom satu zakopan tren
On teč e zlatom optoč eno vrijeme
Od č ekanja vječ nošć u nošen
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Limits/Granice
Perhaps we can put a mountain into chains
But the echo will survive.
Mozda mozemo okovati planinu
Ali eho ć e preživjeti.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matrix/Matrica
I have a knowledge of order that will not deny me
In the shaking fences of Maria denials
Conceived in rebellion ending in mercy
Because nothing has stood on the night assembly line
To be merely a morning awakening and a step halted
In time accounts self subtracted
Hours dripping self added
In the moment endlessly divided
And the moment endlessly multiplied
I'm removing the layers - Zenon-like, unmovable ones
A frozenness forever thrown into the ashes
Is looking for its countenance in vain
Because I know time is just a mask of a woman
With the face of the ploughed fields
And a pendulum X- ray discovered
Of her head grown within numbers
Because nothing can stand on a matrix
That reconciles statis and division ability
Without a thin layer of an apparent generation
Being thrown down the feet in the walk of her hours
Matrica
Ja poznajem poredak koji me nece poreci
U poljuljanim ogradama Marije poricanja
Pobunom zaceta milošcu zaceta
Jer još ništa nije stalo na pokretne trake noci
Da jutrom bi bilo tek budjenje i korak zaustavljen
U racunu vremena od sebe oduzetog
U kapljanju sati u sebi sabranom
U trenu beskrajno djeljivom
I trenu beskrajno umnoženom
Ja skidam slojeve zenonovski nepokretne
Ukocenost zauvijek bacena u pepeo
Uzalud traga za svojim likom
Jer znam vrijeme je maska žene
Sa licem uzoranih njiva
I klatnom otkrivenim na rendgen snimku
Njene glave urasle u brojeve
Jer na matrici koja miri statis i djeljivost
Ništa više ne može stati
A da se pri tom tanka skrama prividnog nastanka
Ne surva niz stope gazom njenih sati
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This World Is Not Conclusion, By Emily Dickinson
This world is not a matter
A dead transition from an earth into a breath
From a breath into an earth
This world unmeasured by an eye
Is neither a view through a magnifying glass
Nor winking at sense
This world is not a game
Of a small and big intelligence
This world a strange link
Despite the chains
Won't go into a circle
Ovaj svijet nije tvar
Mrtvi prelazak iz zemlje u dah
Iz daha u zenlju
Ovaj svijet okom nesagledan
Nije pogled kroz uvecano staklo
Ni namigivanje smislu
Ovaj svijet nije igra
Male i velike pameti
Ovaj svijet karika cudna
Lancima u inat
Nece u krug
1996.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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