Miroslava Odalovic Poems

Is like a bad detective always a way behind a good criminal.

Jezik je kao los detektiv uvijek u zaostatku za dobrim kriminalcem.
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And they had the taste of salt

The salt of the earth
The taste of broken sky
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you pay for the night
and you stay forever
you pay for the night
but nothing can sever

each day share
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you by the window in glass
you count the buds of decapitated roses
green- leaved mouth-shut you announce
in little cords the rootless growth
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heart of my heart
come to my beat
away in a flicker
of all trembling sights
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Is the soul of freedom
Doesn’t let be written by a human hand
Is the soul of stardom
It’ll let be written in the Heaven’s land
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Maintenant
dans cet moments
Le Petit Prince
Il parle de fleurs
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The child was given a fruit
But the child did not eat
The child was given a shelter
But the child did not sleep
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Matter
It wants to play
Be a mother of singing
Waiting for the return of words
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