Calender Day 9 Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

The living and the dead
They want answers beyond the measures of their time
And times easily crash into each other's spaces
All knowledge is there waiting to be discovered revealed
Poured into half empty hands of the mind and the mind of power
Whose credibility rests on the implements of moral codes
Inscribed into now malevolent signs of philosophia prima
Of the doors closing down
Whose vulnerability lies in the whole world of dreams
And hopes hopelessly lost on a broken brow

I fear the world will be really dropped on head
The way it drops its subjects once they're too hot to touch

I once had this little book of colours
The leafs are still turning my life
Never really let me in
My ancestors were there denied as well
And I was sad
You're too endless for its pages
So said the dead
You're too tainted for its hues
Thus spake the living
But the book remained open
At each page a Crone touched sage
Touched the hand of a virgin maid
Forever turning the bread of embrace
As yellow as the sunset in the cornfield
As green as immaculate trees
As red as the ribbons in the plaits
Eventually torn in a rainbow wind
Where within I spinned
All answers by the graveyard
Slipping my own mind
Slipping my own tongue
Both tied in the beg of silence
The living were crying
The dead were laughing
And in every sadness the song of silence
Besieged the fortresses and crossed the motes
Burning the rivers behind
To find a dwelling in the Hypnos sign
Resting its smile by the bay sun soil
A mosaic placed in the heart of a dream
Where Resona smiles a young lip smile
My smile resting within
From behind the wired
Encaged in the monument of time.

©Miroslava Odalovic