Pages

Saturday, 13 July 2013

Poem: Mechanism of war




the things you've said are written on pieces of paper
clipped on the wire like washed laundry
somewhat heavy and somewhat fresh
they seem like ghost letters pleading to stay
                - the way they flutter in the wind
when we sit in silence about the truth
our lives are long car rides into the unknown
our dashboards collecting scent of our days and nights
there it all lies, life in its’ splendour

among billions, my life is just a whisper
but will it ever carry its' own voice?
for I am a writer without a name on the run
if every road leads from birth till death, what's more important,
- the ride or the road?
convinced myself believing my greatest pain
was being misunderstood; in truth,
it was never being heard at all
if we exchange our keys will our hearts finally be quiet?

sometimes we fear where others will lead us to
the walls we build are not high enough
people will climb them or break them down
in the end it only matters what will make better memories
- those you once loved
do they hold a tombstone in your heart
or are they like butterflies who ease your breath?
living is a war, where you recognize what's important and what not
and if it doesn't change us, what's the point of living?

*

30 comments:

  1. OMG, I LOVE this!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I loved this Natasa. :) A deep poem, wonderfully presented. I particularly loved these lines:

    "if we exchange our keys will our hearts finally be quiet?"

    "do they hold a tombstone in your heart
    or are they like butterflies who ease your breath?"

    the butterflies part summed it up for me. really good work. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm glad it's butterflies for you. :) thank you...those lines are close to me to (not that the others are not, but those two in particular).

      Delete
  3. A wonderfully deep and contemplative write. That first stanza is exceptional to me...I enjoyed the whole thing.

    ReplyDelete
  4. intimate meditations.life is a struggle.and we all search for our own ways to cope with it.

    ReplyDelete
  5. "In the end it only matters what will make better memories" ----- I do like that idea. I hope to live life so that at the end of my time I will have no regrets, and also that those who remember me will have good memories. As far as living being a 'war,' well maybe so...the fight between what is important and unimportant. And may the important take the lead. Thanks for sharing, Natasa!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. thank you.. yes, it's the best way to live life, to make memories and leave those behind in others.

      Delete
  6. ha, your phrasing is awesome...

    when we sit in silence about the truth
    our lives are long car rides into the unknown

    and they each bear little truths, life is but a whisper, there are quite a few lines i could quote back, know its enjoyed...and there is def a point...and it does change us...

    ReplyDelete
  7. The opening is strong, vivid. The speaker's voice is clear, no wavering. Then it becomes a collection of images, some of which are very good but they're shrouded in exposition. I really like what you begun here.

    ReplyDelete
  8. A beautiful profound piece, just wonderful!

    ReplyDelete
  9. An interesting presentation of your ideas. I liked the 'ghost letters' part.

    ReplyDelete
  10. What a deep poem! The letters being somewhat fresh and somewhat heavy are a striking insight.

    ReplyDelete
  11. wow, a beautiful poem.
    sad, even elegant, in the pain, and a message of hope in the end.

    "among billions, my life is just a whisper" -- what a great line. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm glad you see hope in the of the poem :) and thank you.

      Delete
  12. We can practice loving ourselves during the mean time.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Wow--what a gorgeous write--Loved this in every way you can love a piece!!

    ReplyDelete
  14. "our lives are long car rides into the unknown...." great line! I love the line about leaving better memories. Also, in our poems, our voice can be heard, by those interested in reading. Well written. Nice to see you at the Pantry, kiddo!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. thank you.. yes, we can be heard through our poems, but if the right reader finds it.. and besides those who write poetry, who else reads poems these days? I don't wanna be pessimistic, but I really don't know anyone...

      Delete
  15. This is wonderful! Contemplative. Introspective. I especially loved the first stanza, beautiful imagery. Thanks for your visit :)

    ReplyDelete
  16. Natasha, Often, I sit and contemplate on these lines- A poem is human voice and the self that produces the poem wants to make a contact with the reader of the poem. And the act of completion completes only when the reader enters the imaginative play of a poem, bringing to it our point of view.
    Poetry Pantry is one place where you find such readers...:)) My first time here, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading your work. Great job..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. thank you Panchali for stopping by... and indeed, a poem is a human voice which wants to make contact with the reader. nicely put.

      Delete
  17. I do think it is true that it is harder to NOT BE HEARD AT ALL than to be misunderstood. At least, in a misunderstanding there is communication and a chance to explain....but not to be heard is downright painful. (Back visiting this poem again a second time.)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. thank you Mary... it is downright painful not to be heard..

      Delete