Skip to main content

DIALOGUE by Milijana Božović

We often do not really want to hear experiences from other people because it moves us from our perfectly closed capsule…

We are often afraid of what changes could happen. This poem is called 'Dialogue' but there is just one voice speaking, the other is there but it does not say anything. The other just absently listens. I believe that listening, sympathy and understanding are needed in this world.

Dialogue

What if I tell you
that I inarm the Source
many, many times
while in sore impotence
it inaudibly asks me to
still be the part of a golden thread that
keeps our place breathing.

What if I tell you
that of my many eyes
just one is for me
while the others
float in my presence
to make from me a love nest,
to warm me enough for
transforming all the weeds into bursting buds.

What if I don't tell you
that I'll leave tomorrow
like many times
would you nevertheless
would you anywise
remember me formless
remember not knowing me
and say you should have
felt me clearer?
~


Milijana Božović: I am from Montenegro, Balkans, Southeast Europe. I am 23 years old. I've been writing since childhood, mainly poetry. It was and still is my way of writing a diary, through verses. In my opinion, it is important to have a way to channel one's own energy and one's vision of everything around, inside and beyond. I am interested in music, literature and translation. I sing and I play bass guitar a little. For now, I have one song recorded under the name Aera Barda. The song is Voice of Oneness (Moola mantra). I plan to learn to play guitar so I can present some of my verses in the way of singing, also. I believe in Love, Light and Peace.




~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without