Untitled Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

Whatever one might say can be burned down in silence covering our hearts and each silence can be buried into another one

this is the place at which every sleep stops
where every step covers itself to dwell down below the unknown

this is the moment at which one can see
anything is better than be buried in one's own skin
as you can take it off shake it off as if it were
an unnecessary piece of garment
the whole nakedness is like an endless endeavor
to tie oneself up into something that at least looks like sense

some people call it philosophy
some people see it as art
some people can't help but name it
I sometimes like to leave it
with no name whatsoever
naming it won't help

it'll still bother me
for it's an everlasting and neverending effort
to reach the highest point in the universe
at which the universe itself stops fighting
the battle of my life or anybody else's for that matter
and surrenders meekly the lamb of my peace

I like to call it a longing
an unusual restlessness
that can be counted down backwards from ten to zero
before its launch

I like to keep it under my skin
hoping for thousands of words
in thousands of languages
to pronounce the secret of being silent

so I guess I'm right
I can never name it
but I can live it