my desk is crammed with extinct languages
without living descendants in sight
my ceiling heavy with gruesome attacks by serial killers
survived against all odds
my garbage can is a handful of banalities
my plate full of wars fought in vain
my fridge fraught with tears torn on the barbed wire
carefully stored and deep frozen for future use
my lamp shows me life in the spotlight
though it hates being left alone with my thoughts of tomorrow
swallowed by the sun
my coffee cup gives me a sardonic smile every time I tell it
I want him to love me in person, not in the abstract
my doors scream false pride and irregular accomplishments
my baggage begs me to reconsider
my mouse my only ally, deleting geography
my floor is a liquid mixture of
visceral bleeding and spilled brains
my mirrors aching mourners at the funeral
(blessed are not those who mourn)
the insistent audience demanding
encore after encore
after…
(sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t stay to the end of the movie)
my state of being is
a series of running and passing plays
my state of mind elsewhere
my head, a concert with fireworks timed
to the music of untuned percussion instruments
an extended clattering of pans and cutlery in the kitchen
my happiness beyond compare –
the medieval conception of justice
* You can read more of Bojana’s work at Blogging with Bojana
Pingback: THE HOUSE I LIVE IN – BOJANA’S COFFEE & CONFESSIONS TO GO
Every stanza is so powerfully and exquisitely written. The rich language expresses the emotions effectively.
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I was pretty much at the mercy of my emotions. when I wrote it, as you can see.
I’m thrilled you liked it, Amitav. Thank you.
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It’s fantastic that I get to read such amazing work of literature. I loved reading this.
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This is all new to me and find it interesting, to say the least, how my poetry changes with the mood. (So glad)
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You have natural flair for poetry. Keep sharing your fantastic work.
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I will. Thank you.
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I agree with Basilike..there is so much of this that is amazing. Every line a perfect, poetic paintbrush that is like eating Thai food for the first time: the flavor changes the more one eats.
This is just perfectly wonderful.
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I remember eating Thai for the first time. I fucking loved it. It was an explosion of flavors in my mouth…so this is an amazing compliment. Thank you.
Remember what I told you after reading your poem In my head?
https://brandewijnwords.com/2018/07/14/in-my-head/
I said I was working on sth similar, yet different, and was, as you can see, in a pretty gloomy mood. (You know how much I love gloomy.) Soooo, this is the outcome. I was obviously stressed out and anxious, hence this ‘suicidal’ poem, as I call it, though you know I’m not the kind. Thant’s why I had to end it in a slightly jocular manner.
I’m feeling good again, so back to new (or old) me. Wait and see.
Thank you so much.
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While I had forgotten, I do now recall you saying that you had something similar but different.
Yes, yes…you are a gloom lover. Thankfully you are also someone who won’t go there. Very happy to see you ended it the way you did.
We love the new old you.
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I do too. Thank you, again.
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My mind races in this fun/horror house that is your mind, and it’s maddening that “the insistent audience demanding encore after encore” doesn’t see that what truly steals the show is off the stage.
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I wouln’t like my whole world to be a stage. I’m so not cut out to be a celebrity.
Thank you so much.
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Bojana, your house sounds
like the state of humanity
in the blender of anthropology.
Is there room in the ceiling
for another psycho killer?
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We can call it that way if we strive to understand and explain how we got to be the way we are, not to say what hot messes we are.
Psycho killers always find a way. However, I’m currently keeping them restrained.
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To be, or not to be,
a Pandora … Bojana?
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I should have listened to Zeus. Damn women and their curiosity.
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Good job, B. Lots of strong lines in this…
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Thanks, Michael.
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Speaking of vocabulary, this is absolutely astounding. I adore this one and the language you’ve beautifully sewn together.
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A bit morose, as sb just called it, but this kind of mood is always good for poetry.
Thank you, Sam.
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I love the way you create these pieces–so powerful!
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Thank you so much.
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Trust me to be the last one to the party. I feel like I’ve walked into the morning-after scene of an explosive Halloween party, stepping over the sleeping corpses of those who gorged and gulped their way through a decadent feast of other-worldly delights.
I agree with Amitav, you are a natural and only magnificent things are borne of your museful loins.
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I’m glad it resonated, Mag. That’s exactly how I felt.
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This reads like a beautiful homage to literary lore. Visceral imagery. It really speaks to my anachronistic heart. Sublime writing.
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From you, that means an aweful lot, A.G.
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You’re very welcome. 🙂
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