Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Natasa Dolenc- Six Poems


this ribcage is a door behind which hides an ocean
sounds of the waves escape the mouth
I moved around the kitchen as carelessly as I used to
my body independent from the wanting
these egoistic creatures upon which I stand
never made enough use of their strong fibre
rocks and water have left marks on my skin
earth fighting a battle on the surface of our bodies
like bubbles - when you poke it, the air gets out

I belong to you, a bit wearied and bent
diving through each dark coloured leaf
I push my palms against the starlit sky
space between the earth and the moon is mine
I wish you'd make a constellation out of the marks on my skin
and fall in love with each one of them
I wrote it in capital letters so you would know
the adjective that was missing; like your voice
that used to remind me of who I really am

a tree extends across my back as wings would
there is a place on the back of my neck
where you can kiss me and make the branches shiver
so I can feel the eternity rushing through the veins
but »never« is a word unknown to this suit
 the future doesn't look so infinite
growing old with the dread of ending
let the body not be aware of its mortality

moon is the heart, stardust is the blood

Hands, Fingers and Arms

I imagine my HANDS
...having a watch to count the good deeds
...having strength to raise children so they would be brave
...having posture to express more empathy than conformity
...using sparks that light up the hearts in need
...having enough warmth to offer shelter in the coldest of times
...having wisdom to share with others
...can set aside the differences between us
...knowing every forest like the back of the hand

I imagine my FINGERS
...making symphonies with the stroke of grain
...are able to speak to the deaf
...don't tremble at the thought of fear
...can paint a better picture
...reaching into the deepest places in search for truth
...can recite old, forgotten tales
...can untangle the mysteries of the universe
...are the best toys and learning tools

I imagine my ARMS
...are as soft as pillows, that dry away the sadness
...are calming like the sea waves
...are not tired after a days work
...have the power to stand the time
...are growing new flowers
...offering support to every blossom or seed
...can dance joyfully with anyone
...can welcome birth and death with the same grace

and in the end I imagine they are able to forgive
    what has or hasn't been done

Love of thousands

the heart can stumble, fall, float or drown in silence
the mind flying behind it, tries to reason with it
offering compromises in last rational attempts
and then the echo of a storm is seen in the eyes
but dive far enough, there will be peace,
there will be love

you carry love of thousands inside you
all your ancestors fought against the odds
took chances, met coincidences, played with fate
engaged in the game of love, ignited fires
into new hearts, exchanged stardust on the fingertips
    with those they touched

they are long hidden in the corners of your cells
somehow they still live on inside your name
as you stand here now, lost in a small memory
of the journey behind how your heart started beating
what does it take for two souls to meet?

Remembering Imprints

sway, sway, sway
through the winter wind
bended wings in the snowcovered land
these nights I keep dreaming of the sea
wrapped under the warmth of an endless horizon

on the night sky I chose a light
to break the loneliness of sitting on the roof
more and more faces have faded, lacking time
mirrors can talk, but never listen
shadows creep out of their shape

glitter on the eyelashes melts
feels like going blind
there are many reflections of me
but none of them is true
still they are lasting

living without playing any roles
left out of other peoples' stories
never to show all the cards
you can move on, but never really leave
your heart, like the snow,
    -- remembering imprints


the stones we gathered have disappeared
crystal air-bubbles invading through the hourglass
escaping through the oceans with no memories
    of our precious minutes
in the room where clocks keep on ticking
    I see it clearly now –
our lives are plays displayed on our dashboards
if I write a story, would you play a role for me?
- touch me deeper than myself, for I am not a fragile bird
or would that be totally inappropriate?
among twenty-seven versions of us,
we write down the one designed by time and space
I searched for a definition of myself in your words
as if your eyes have a better understanding of myself
now we don't seem to care if the other lives of dies
we painted on the walls of our parents house
writing down stories of the faces we found on the ceiling
not giving much care to the one we were living
we carelessly ran away from things – not knowing they always ran after us
we knew that when we grow tall our feet will fit in the grown-ups' shoes
and we'll take longer and more important steps
little did we know our faces will change their colour
and we'll abandon the games we used to play
but the manner with which we'll do things, will stay the same
we had today, but today turned into yesterday
and yesterday clings in the back of our minds
like a faded memory and now we're questioning its existence
for everything has an expiration date
we were never kids first,
always trying to put ourselves in the roles only adults were allowed to play
from primary school, to a college, to a job, to a house, to a home...
years later we forget how to keep wonder
where is the force that glued our hearts together?
words of freedom hang on the wire through wind and snow
birds whispering their songs at sundown
the winter of our hearts has passed
many people have left the train
many love stories never reached a beginning
or have lost their spark
many new lives have begun while others have lost their writer
remaining ones searching for a sound mind and a place to hide
as the time capsule swallows us into its depths
    are we out of our minds?
future us dropping past into the sea
the dead town stealing away tomorrows
slaves refusing revolution for comfort and injustice
who's driving this train anyway?
there's a promise of a treasure on a map
we're running like mad men to the hills
so we can fight for the little we managed to hide as our own
in a seemingly small playground we are building future
not out of rocks and stones, but with hearts and bones
and we wonder what kind of shadow our lives will cast behind

Silence After the Song
Natasa Dolenc

thousand memories

launched on the ocean of your heart

you sense them sail,

etching on the surface, causing ripples

with no prediction

in which direction they will lead

all you know

there might be pain and sorrow uncovered

for the night

can bring light to your past

but in the end

there will be acceptance of all things

and undeniable comfort

of the way you feel your own skin