Miroslava Odalovic Poems

This heart that slept the beauty sleep
And dreamt of daylight drums of joy
This heart that dived abyss too deep
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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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Is just a your pain sprinkled across the face of the earth
Final testimonies of Hypostases that no gnostic reading could capture
Before drowning under an avalanche of self made face concepts
And this urge to create in an image born in you and self moved
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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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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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Maintenant
dans cet moments
Le Petit Prince
Il parle de fleurs
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Matter
It wants to play
Be a mother of singing
Waiting for the return of words
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‘My dream is to fly
Over the rainbow so high’
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