REFLECTIONS
Poetry by Mira N. Mataric-Radovanov
Poetry

Poems, like rose petals, like the autumn leaves, fall off me whenever there is an internal fluttering, trembling, or shaking taking place; an external wind or storm, or just a natural change, like shedding of an outgrown snakeskin for a new one. Any emotion, any thought, or awe with nature and beauty may cause it.

I remember writing (and sharing) my first poem, on seeing the Adriatic Sea for the first time, during a school field trip, at age fourteen. I published (and dared to share it even more widely) at age eighteen. In both cases, my parents and my teachers offered a loving, strong support and encouragement.

I have enjoyed nature and sang from the beginning of my life in many different forms, before it poured out in a form of poetry. I have been exposed to the beauty and wisdom of good poetry from the beginning of my life, because I remember forever seeing my father going through our home and his life reciting poetry and quoting sayings of wisdom. My mother always did the same. Both of them loved to read and encouraged it in us, children, as well. My father always repeated: A man, a valuable person is he/she who has a son and writes a book. Now I can say, I have made my father happy. I have a daughter (and a granddaughter) and I wrote more than one book.

REFLECTIONS
Poetry by Mira N. Mataric-Radovanov
WARNING

Each word,

With numberless use,

Becomes light

Like the autumn leaves.



Each word,

Once experienced,

Becomes vast

Like the skies,

Deep like the ocean,

Heavy like the doom.



Poetry must be read

Slowly,

Having this in mind.



Then yellow autumn leaves,

Sometimes,

To someone,

Fall heavily

Upon the heart.

Awakening

The dream thins and vanishes

And quietly I touch

The bank of the day.



Behind me rustling of mists

And the river.



I’ll push the boat into the mist

Into the dream



And enter the light

Alone.

BECAUSE

For me,

In the world

There is only one man.

For you – one woman.



They must inevitably meet.

Cadmus

Stop and you will be a king

For kingdom is within you

Earned by your wandering.



Weariness is your royal cape.

The spot where you stop

Into home flourishes.



Stop and you will be the king.

Rest will be your royal ring

And peace your crown.

Come

I have a pocketful of stars

For cloudy nights.

Come.



We’ll scatter the stars

And enter sleep together.



With you I want

To wait for the day.



I’ll give all my stars

Gathered so long

For you.

Come.

Cruelty of Love

When I listen to it

I hear within me

A desperate flutter

Of the white wings.



Between I met you yesterday

And I’ll meet you tomorrow -

Horror:



I must kill the doves.

They flutter, restlessly flutter,

And between I met you yesterday

And will I meet you tomorrow -

Fear

And a desperate flutter

Of the broken wings.

Decision

More and more grief

And less surprise.

No interest in life.

Somewhere between unanswered why

And knowledge such is life

Lies a thick sea of indifference.



One has to live with that knowledge.

Or not live.

As you choose

Gordian Knot

Bare hands holding

The sharp, slippery edge

Of a steep, high mountain.



Growing weary

From the dreary

Long hold.

The head spinning

From the sight

Of the cloud-hidden height

And the bottomless depth.



Hold. Hold still

Till you can no more.

Hold. Hold some more.



Till you forget

How you got there

And why you are still holding.



This is not a dream.

The time frozen in pain.

All hope is vain.



This is reality.

There is no escape

From this endless wake.

Time stands still

But your mind will

Suddenly,

Let go!

Harness of Passion

I am chasing you,

My debtor.

Upon the rein of your fear

And my desires you rear.



If I stop,

You will tumble

Into the chasms of my love.