Texture of his voice
Created interest
In a world I longed
to belong
to
I wondered
if I was seen
in
the world I wanted
to be
in
I wanted that
so much
I could burst
My heart ran
& my passion sang
As the words created a texture
An interest
of a world
I found myself
in
This is a poem that caresses the soul
By Maria Grujicic
Copyright 26th February, 2013
I know I’ve connected to my soul when I have written so much. It keeps me true to who I am, a poet! Please let me know your thoughts, don’t be shy. I love reading the comments and appreciate “likes”. If you could build texture for your ideal world, what would it look, feel, taste, sense, sound, smell like? Keep on dancing!
The day my soul was given a name, was the day I was taken away. Like a caterpillar, with one aim, to grow… change… fly, and find you again. Dying alone is delicately defined as dying in a loveless tone. My deepest fear isn’t the inevitable act but the unpredictable, lonely journey. Oh if only I could have you near. Though, only … When love is still warm in my heart I can die. And so I’m alive, I cannot stop until I find It. It keeps my light sparking the trail. It lifts me up high. And when it’s time to die I don’t feel alone with my beautiful memories. I sleep with my friends. Details are beyond my reach, but the feelings hold my peace. I can smile. This is my Truth. It’s true because it is in my thoughts. I can feel It with all my heart that pumps the warmth through my blood. I’m dead in my head.
Sweet dreams,
Venus
This is a letter from Venus to Mother Earth in my first novel, Do It Like A Dance. Read it like a poem.
Hand me downs
The gifts my mother returned
I gave with myself in mind
Years ago
In idle youth,
My mother’s gifts
mirrored the woman I always wanted her to be
grace, beauty and womanhood
I coaxed her with the possibilities
A life she deserved but sacrificed for me
Relevant only now
I opened my eyes
When gifts became hand me downs from my mother who recognized
I gave a part of me
She kept me preserved and new
Sorted in scattered bundles all over the floor
The dresses, skirts and accessories
My mother had no occasion for
My reward and anguish of giving to someone who sacrifices
Is a lifetime of hand me downs
to my mother who holds my memories
I’m at her mercy
It takes courage to write honestly
When one is open to the unknown
Though I do
because happiness is a habit I try to share
Years later,
upon a swift turn of my head and a glance
Who would have thought
I finally wore the clothes a real woman was born to bear
By Maria Grujicic
31/12/2012
This poem is dedicated to my mother, the most giving soul I have ever met. Like every giving soul people do take advantage, but even so she is so beautiful that it doesn’t seem to affect her. Her goodness lives on in her, she has grace, she has virtue, but she has her true self. She has lost her youth but she is still alive and strong. And she gives this power to me.
It was you I saw from afar
an angelic phantom
I needed not the magic of sound
to feel the beating in your heart
it trickled and flowed,
it caressed my soul
and in time I became soaked in you
The softness of essence appeared,
dripped slowly into the years
I grew old with you
Upon death
The candle remained in my head
You were the living light
You weaved yourself deep in my soul.
In the half-light you were my whole
In full-darkness
words appeared in your ever-lasting glow,
your gentle words encompassed me about
They held me closer than close
Upon death
I could smell your melting eloquent scent,
feel your softness
& life of the unknown
I am speechless
You are my gift
Forever you will be
My living breathing beauty
who showers the heavens above
with sparkling light,
Your sublime presence and anonymous love
Has enough for everyone
It’s OK to breathe
The wind will catch it and play
Don’t worry
I won’t misinterpret the indication it creates
It’s a symbol, a part of you
that anyone can manipulate
It isn’t you
By Maria Grujicic
December 2012
This is a poem part of my new collection, Poems That Touch The Soul. I titled the book this way because I am often told by people that my poems touch their soul. They do the same for mine as I write them and read them again and again.
I have a few more that I wrote and haven’t shared just yet, I haven’t had the courage to publish them on my blog.
Let me know if you’re a poet, what kind of poems do you like? I find most of my readers are anonymous. This is OK.
It takes courage to write, and honesty isn’t always the best way because it isn’t easy to write honestly when one is open to the unknown.
This is why I love deeply the simplicity of a poem.
A poem is like philosophy, open to interpretation. Or at least, this is my view. It has eternal, timeless and universal meaning to life. My poem, It Isn’t You illustrates this thought. Do you see it in the poem?
The number of kisses differ
with each daily dose
It has to be so
for an authentic glow
in her cheeks
in her eyes
She leaves unforgettable replies
to be seen, to be felt
Senses rise
The authority
of love
is the cause of variety
An authentic glow
unforgettable replies are left unknown
& sought
by the spices of daily life
Written by Maria Grujicic
26th December, 2012
This poem describes an authentic kiss and the kiss itself as an authority on the daily spices of life. My poem addresses kissing experiences, what makes them unique?
Write
Peacefully
But know what it is in your mind
This is the key to unleashing
the wretched disguise of patterns
in daily life
I write and keep writing
This is what will remain of me
after I die
With a set of clues
Relevant
Only to anonymous eyes
I place my soul in my own heart
& I will always have you
When I feel the rays of the abundant stars
Your words will always live in my head
Your body and mine will always be
This is the love I have
for an anonymous star
By Maria Grujicic Copyright 2012
I’d like to introduce you to a Serbian singer named Toma Zdravkovic. An unknown, Toma Zdravkovic started singing in a pub. You know the kind, a smoky room full of people, entertaining them while they drink, smoke, chat, laugh.
Memories of The Last King of The Pubs
He was inspired by women, alcohol… He grew up in a very poor village and started singing ay 15 years old. Because of poor and bad life he decided to go and move to a town close to his village. Frozen on the street he came across a female singer, Silavana Armelvic who took him to a pub close by the street. Afterwards he went to a town called Tuzla and he spent 5 years in one hotel making the party room full every night.
Afterwards a friend brought him to Belgrade and he got a job. He met his first wife in Novi Sad and he had one daughter. He got a divorce. His first love sent him a telegram in a hotel in Novi Sad that she was very sick in Bosnia. He decided to spend time with her up to her death. After that he wrote a song called Buket Belih Ruza, in English Bouquet of White Roses…..
He had cancer and the doctors told him he had only a few years to live. After I learned of him, the words of his life touched me so deeply, a sadness crept up on me. Why didn’t I know of him sooner? Why didn’t I experience his magic? But a reply in my conscience realized his soul lived on by the words he left behind. The video alone one can view and sense the atmosphere that radiated through his charisma, his voice was like a touch that said all will be all right if we can live this remaining life together.
Toma Zdravkovic said in an interview that the pub was the place for his performances because it was like a theatre. A unison of famous people joined with him at this pub, entertaining. Watch them in the video. He was an unknown, an anonymous star, he touched their soul, and he expected nothing more from that but another night of the same.
At the end of the night after everyone left he found some unknown to give all his earnings to. Incredibly it took him 15 years to produce his album. 15 years battling cancer, and other challenges life brings, he wrote all his own songs. He felt humiliated performing at first, he was laughed at in his first performance because he was so shy. About 5 per cent of the world population knew about him, people in a pub who loved him. He carried on and after 15 years he produced his album and he was on TV, and shortly afterwards he died of the cancer that he battled up to that point. I was further touched to find out that he had cancer of the throat.
I dedicate this poem to Toma Zdravkovic. The man I never met but touched my soul. His story alone, his music, his stance, the emotion in his eyes that he pulls away, seemingly hidden away, touching souls by his voice, his music. My poems are designed to touch a soul, to reach the unknown, not to reveal the mystery of life, rather, be immersed in it. At times I give up. I had a spell of not writing for months, but after some soul-searching with Toma Zdravkovic I was presented by an answer.
There are those that battle to be rich and famous, and those that battle each day just to do what we love. Give me a chance of another life again and again, and I’d choose to pursue my passion.
The story is based on word of mouth because I don’t understand the Serbian to interpret his interview. If some details aren’t correct or if you have more information about Toma Zdravkovic please let me know. The poem is part of my new poetry book titled, Poems That Touch The Soul.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. Anaïs Nin
