stiff and strong:

your claw plows my soft skin,

where red streams

follow the trails,

succumbing to tearful river,

as droplets gravitate towards the floor.


My eyes are riveted to the closed door.

I can always wear another skin, fur:

dress in feathers or thorny petals.

But how my scarred heart will

continue to beat,

in between these lungs

as it is like raw egg

smashed against the wall?


Maja S. Todorovic


My poems

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.

NaPoWriMo day 21: An Intent

Why do I need to pretend?

You say: ”I’ve always had good intent!”

yet your eyes sparkle every time

I plead for your fragile approval?


I’m not who you expect me to be.

I can’t be something you need for you

to continue your life in peace.


I’m confused, I still search

to make that little girl inside me smile

run after rainbow and collect stars;

swing on the moon and walk

across the Sun;


jump over the mountains

and play charades with whales

in ocean fountains.


That little girl is so scared,

impaired by false assumptions

she need to take care of you

instead to accept:

“Here, within myself I belong to!”


And I can tell you

that little girl is very close to finding her truth

lying in between two smooth edges of tomorrow

where she’s conquering beautiful world’s burrow

and yesterday when you held her tight to comb her hair.


Who said life is fair?

Stop to fight, let her go.


Maja S. Todorovic

On the Beautiful Blue Danube

I could see the island from my window. During summer we used to go to swim and play there: At Lido beach. The alluvial plateau verved with life and deep, green bushes. In the middle of the island was a small lake where fish in love would go on a date at night; secluded from the city lights youngsters would play in my hands. As I would dig in the sand my little feet, with one eye I would count all 17 archaeopteryx species that I new and with other I would admire the Kalemegdan walls, standing proudly above the river bank. “The Beautiful Blue Danube”  did exist. You have to believe me!

No, it’s not like the story I used to tell about wired fences, birds with plastic wings and hatcheries of oil spill rings.

Maja S. Todorovic

What a stag!

I snuffle around with my muzzle.

Ladybug jumps from grass to pebble, here near

the stream. Then on my horns.


It’s a nice sunny day.

No winds or rain on the horizon.

Perfect for hunting.


That’s how I see above my just shot body.

“What a stag!” – one voice said.

These horns will lovely decorate my

cottage wall!”

“With rest I’ll make a stew,

the one that tastes the best!”

-said the other voice.


Then they pulled my flabby body,

leaving trail of red juice, staining the flickering water.


Their heavy leathery boots rooted deep rills in the mud,

carrying my unclenched, loosen flesh on their backs.


They packed everything very quickly,

so didn’t recognize the rustle movement behind the oak tree.


I tremble on this cloud of nothingness,

watching the scene of my terrifying dreams:

This time my son

my large body shielded you,

so you could carelessly play in the grass.

What will happen  when leathery lethal boots return?

Death as we know it

You decided to leave,

over the cliff of promise

where the verve takes calm.

Disintegrated I walk through your flesh.

Limbs linger in ambiguity:

Why and How?

I don’t have any questions.

As I drown in memories

I pretend cold marble stone is your chest.

I press my cheeks, needing to hear that heart beat,

you whisper in my ear:”I exist in you, that’s the moment I live”.