Her left hooded eyelid lingeres just over the edge
where lashes touched her hair
silver pupil is less widened from the right one
it didn’t hurt: close to a mosquito bite
red mark in the root of a left hand
became the only trail she walked
to her dream
to her drea
to her dre
to her dr
to her d
to her.
Maja S. Todorovic
The air has your color
the memory of its own,
repeatable sense to remind
me how hips shared hunger and
joined hands traveled the same path
of untold story.
The time tastes after your touch,
after the sound of every stripped
particle, wanting to get lost
in you, collided with the meaning
of existence.
And the space collected every drip
skipped from the lip, a tear, a sweat,
scorched on the bathroom floor
fossilized witness of how I wish to
die – curled in you, sigh extant.
Maja S. Todorovic
My poems are my ideas,
my dreams, my toys,
my stories, my…
the most beautiful.
You can’t destroy a poem.
It can be hidden somewhere in your head,
in little corner where likes to sleep,
until it decides to walk over your lips.
My poems are clouds where I sit and
watch birds fly and sing.
My poems are…
Maja S. Todorovic
*note: this is translation of a poem I wrote when I was 15. It’s been 25 years since then, and I still feel the same about poetry. Strange and beautiful in the same time.
Embrace your broken parts: each wound, each hurt, each pain
is just a new crack on the wall of your soul pouring more of your
inner light to shine bright.
Is there anything more beautiful than that?
Maja S. Todorovic
The way I slept naked on the floor;
The way I hid myself from the sun;
The way I ate uncooked food with my bare hands;
The way I flossed my teeth three times a day;
The way I laughed at your stupid jokes;
The way I adored your razor-blade thin smile;
The way your huge hands held me around my waist
is the way I loved you.
And still do.
Maja S. Todorovic
We travel, come here the same
in fragile teary, pink skin
with jelly bones and hungry eyes.
Yet, each stay differs
makes us wonder:
“How did I board a wrong boat?”
Maja S. Todorovic
Spring didn’t bring any change.
As dull clouds spilled ink
on the white face of the sky
so did your cheeks grow
more yellow creases
and lips were losing their smile.
Emptiness swallowed all the words:
our nameless turning heads,
evasion of eyesight collision
is the only language we know.
Maja S. Todorovic
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You and I,
we were like an Arctic summer:
with promising Sun, but short and cold
dreaming of bold nights
to be kissed and never told.
Maja S. Todorovic
It was typical rainy day: grey, wet curtain hid tired steps of people passing by. At the end of the street, just below the tiny slope, every tortuous creek plunged into the porous mouth of the busy, thirsty drain. Water blunged in the rhythm of soft, muffled sobs as young women, with unvoiced stone face, continued to cradle her empty hands.
Maja S. Todorovic
Business in Rhyme 