Miroslava Odalovic (Montenegro)
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Geometry of the universe
I was standing at the point where the roads marked the soil apart in the lost trace of the lapsed years frozen both by the road workers and the tolls. And also at point where the bridges divided the rivers of the tribal death at the time when the earth was still flat and the death was reached by the big rafts governed at night by the tired hands of Morana. Later on someone invented the circle and was burnt in the ring of bonfire. Since the moment the circle was invented an absurd flatness has moved into denial nirvanas, nirvana crosses inherited from the ancestor continent. Alongside many others I also became a spiteful line crossing the circles so that the circle could step out of itself. And the circle heard my secrets.
Why don’t you move, I said, into the heights for you long for a body, be the sun and the moon and the star, the secret of the cycle living its circling each God given year, , each God given day kills the sun in the west rises the sun in the east, each month stealing from the moon a piece of its being reducing it to the sickle with which the moments are cut. Apparently senseless bare high tide low tide movements of the drops within the limited back and forth is not stepping out of the circle and you know that. Be the master of the cyclones, be the master of the seasons, settle in the eye of the first human and mind mature in observation.
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