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
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
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.
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
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
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?
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”.
Business in Rhyme 