THE PAIN

I take a nap and IT HURTS,

I fall asleep, wake up

IT HURTS

I think about something else

I feel THE PAIN

I look for myself,

I lie to myself,

I get drunk,

and IT HURTS,

and IT HURTS.

To die in the arms of someone who does not trust you

IT HURTS.

*****

EYES

In them you will find

What I really am – the eternity.

Wishes of my non-being,

Face full of wrinkles,

Light souls and spring happiness.

No remorse in the core of reason.

Let go of me, without saying my name!

I do not count on you anymore.

You were not ready to

Exist carelessly,

Glitter unintentionally and

Reign unnoticed.

With this love we are fighting for loneliness.

You are imposing new forms to the wind.

How complicated is this simple love …

The thought, legitimate or silly,

Strengthens the games of boredom through you!

Memory is suicide of the oblivion.

Withered lie warns imagination with the fresh truth.

Out of the mere deception,

Starry nights I offer in my eyes.

 

THERE IS

Someone is cracking the branch?!

Hang on till morning.

Here it is inside of me,

Innocent, thirsty

Still waiting for the bread and milk,

Sipping the mint tea.

Bring the peace without the aim

And the flowers for the vase.

Doesn’t know that her soul is freezing, so she takes her time.

Every now and then she sees her but never anything happens.

Starting to believe in miracles.

Is there the heavenly love  and

Such a flame

That it never turns into ashes?

Always ripe like an apple!

Eh, my quest for the fire…

I’m intoxicated by the poem, not wine!

Your words are the wind

Blowing my love

Away!!!

 

SCRUFFY HIM AND SCRUFFY HER

They put you on Psychiatry!

They feed you with antideporessants.

Wooden hags are rejoicing.

They walk on strada,

Mother in law with the cane,

Daughter in the mirror

Fixing her lipstick.

Badass forgive me

If I were a bird

Never to land

On the ground.

Living in that flight,

Could I take you with me?

Probably those birds flew by!

SCRUFFY HIM WITH SCRUFFY HER

When the season of roses pass by

And they wither,

And the birds stop flying.

It is temporary

Washing the faces of lovers.

 

Tatjana Debeljacki writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. She is a Member of Association of Writers of Serbia -UKS since 2004. She is Haiku Society of Serbia- Deputy editor of Diogen. She also is the editor of the magazine Poeta. She has four books of poetry published.
Email/Websites/Blogs Debeljacki & follow her on Twitter.