Miroslava Odalovic Poems

The river or the island
The island or the Camelot
The Shalott or Sir Lancelot
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Go and ask a credulous heart
'Do you believe in shapes? '
'Is a distant bough swaying in a tempest
sound breathless stake breathing the fire of a spell/
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within a need of a precise chemical supplier
to forfeit the substance of each beating heart
there a sky self spelled playing an astrologist role
drawn in its fate hopelessly hopping from one astro sign to another
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…that is the way a rainy day opens.
Like a dropp of rain at the edge of a split atom anticipating the parameter of light-that is the way a rainy day opens. The light on the wind, the step on the water, a water desert dropp and a voice at the bottom of the drizzle, the silence of the boughs rising into the sky to be a cloudy treetop. An axiom of the word within a dropp unuttered by words strengthened for creation. Stripped free from everything, liberated from the word itself and its understanding, the muteness of a dry soul burying the axes of war under an oak tree. To think the water desert into a vacant space.

Календар Дан 23.
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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
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svitanje vjenčava bat sanjanih koraka
sa tminom što dobuje tiho kraj uha
ono stapa svjetlost i vrelinu mraka
i šapat tad postaje naušnica sluha
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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
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