The Waiting


Image found HERE

The Waiting

There is an alley about which
Your bare feet and your shoes converse
In late hours,
Waiting before the door to make sure
You are sound asleep, and carried away
By second lives,
To sneak out and head to it.
In it the geometry breaks into cliffs,
Into little, aged books of lips
And touches sentenced to doom,
Destruction and soot,
Huddled to the bottom shelf,
Hidden behind the pompous titles,
Left there to giggle with daggers
As we walk onwards with no smiles
And no desires,
Thinking how it is easy
To trick someone
Who keeps his eyes closed, too.

You pass there with many, hand in hand,
And you are not even aware,
How everything inside looks at you
In the weirdest of ways,
All stares into your soul,
All scratches your cheeks,
All windows closed, so you think
You’re safe there,
You are only subtly suffering there
And you step out like a lead soldier
Into battles with the clouds;
And you let go of someone’s hand while crossing the street,
And you swear on your heart you will never return,
that if you met her – you chased her away,
that it is easier to become that
than be
a perpetual stranger.

And on the wall, the thorns lean,
The staircase broken off,
All grayness and drab fit into that single
Straight line, catastrophic disaster
That turns you into a verse before a hint of tenderness,
So you leak out like that
Into the sunny day,
Like a threnody with no regards, selfish, solitary;
Yet if you look inside, the windless desert confuses you,
The sorrowful melody confuses you,
the cramp catches you by surprise,
you look into the blue sea and see yourself in pieces
and you no longer want to leave,
you no longer know what you are after,
except that the stain on your shirt where your chest is,
is not a drop of wild cherry juice,
but blood.

While only a few steps away
The white oleander buds melted
And spread into distances,
The wandering souls run and hail,
Grab each other’s shoulder,
Make love with their heads
And break it all with their fingers;
You are left with no option
But to open your umbrella,
Record your gravelly voice inside the music box
And while everything rotates around its axis
And boils
In the dirty dust dancing,
just wait
For her to come.


Postoji jedan sokak o kojem u poznim satima
sapucu bose noge i cipele,
cekajuci pred vratima da potpuno usnis i zaneses se
drugim zivotima,
da se iskradu i da mu se zapute.
U njenu se geometrija prelama
u litice,
u otiske usana,
u malu, prasnjavu knjigu
dodira osudjenih na usud i propast i cadj,
zguranu na dno police,
sakrivenu iza pompeznih naslova,
ostavljenu da se kikoce sa bodezima
dok hodimo bez osmeha, i bez zudnje,
misleci da je lako
nekoga ko i sam stalno zmuri.

Sa mnogima prolazis tu, a nisi ni svestan,
da sve te nekako cudno gleda,
sve ti pilji u dusu, grebe te po obrazu;
svi prozori zatvoreni, pa mislis
tu si bezbedan,
tu si suptilan u patnji,
i koracas kao olovni vojnik u boj sa oblacima,
pa pustis nekome ruku preko ulice,
pa se zakunesh srcem da nikada neces da se vratish,
da si je vec upoznao, da si je oterao vec,
da je lakse to nego biti
veciti neznanac.

A na zidu naslonjeno trunje,
stepeniste se odlomilo,
svo je sivilo stalo u tu jednu
pravolinijsku katastrofu
koja te pred neznoscu pretvara u strofu,
pa curis u suncani dan
kao tugaljka bez obzira, sebicna, samo za sebe;
a ako pogledas u se, zbuni te pustinja bez vetra,
zbuni te melodija setna, iznenadi te grc,
pa pogledash u sinje more i vidish se u parcicima,
i vishe ti se ne odlazi, vise ne znas ni sta trazis,
sem da ti to na kosulji, u predelu grudi,
nije kap visnje vec krv.

Dok samo par koraka dalje
razlili se belog oleandra cvetovi,
trce i dovikuju se duse lutalice,
grabe se za ramena, ljubav vode mislima,
lome se prstima;
ne ostaje ti nista
sem da otvorish kisobran,
nasnimis hrapavi glas na muzicku kutiju
i dok se sve okrece oko svoje ose i vri
u prljavom plesu prashine
da cekas
da ti dodje.

~ by Oloriel on April 28, 2014.

41 Responses to “The Waiting”

  1. Lovely 🙂
    ~Blessings of Inspiration, ~This Day, Every Day ~

  2. Really enjoyed that it was fabulous.

  3. A poetic tale, so much to look into, so much to learn from. Beautiful construction of thoughts.

  4. Just amazing how you weaved the sordid alienation between acts and mind…

    • Thank you very much for your impressions, Bjorn, I am very happy that you liked it and frustrated that I dont know who to type your name right (sorry about that! :/ )

  5. very nicely done – “Like a threnody with no regards, selfish, solitary” is just wonderful

  6. Žao mi je što nemaš za svaku pesmu prevod. Znam da je pesma upravo ono što se gubi u prevodu ali bi imala više čitalaca i sa ovog govornog područja. Ja je pročitam, osetim, ali neke reči naprosto ne znam i onda mi to okrnji doživljaj… a sve zrače, kao i ceo tvoj blog, fotografije… nekom eterijom, samo tebi svojstvenom. 🙂

    • Pesma je u originalu napisana na srpskom, evo stavila sam i to :).
      Osecam se cesto u poslednje vreme da sa materijalom dosadjujem ljudima, da se neshto drugo ocekuje od mene sto ja istovremeno i zelim da dam, a meni nije ni do cutanja, a ni do besede, jer nemam nishta lepo da kazem da se neko ozari, da mu bude bolje.

  7. Однекуд осетих атмосферу Хотела Калифорнија…?!
    Поздрав О.

  8. “catastrophic disaster
    That turns you into a verse before a hint of tenderness,
    So you leak out like that
    Into the sunny day”
    love that

  9. “And you swear on your heart you will never return,
    that if you met her – you chased her away,
    that it is easier to become that
    than be
    a perpetual stranger.” ovo mi se nekako svidelo, da bih izdvojio, iako je pesma kao celina fantasticna!

  10. This is now my new favourite O, such a story you have portrayed. Stunning. x

  11. Ti si nešto fantastično. And you swear on your heart you will never return,
    that if you met her – you chased her away,
    that it is easier to become that
    than be
    a perpetual stranger.

  12. Oloriel i just saw your moon photo omg did you take that? It is amaaaazing, really beautiful I have never ever even tried to take a photo at night time let alone be lucky enough to see a moon like that x

    • I am glad you like the photo!
      I did not take it at night, it was jsut a rainy day evening, I turned the photo to black and white which made the sky look like the surface of the Moon to me, hence why I titled it “The Moon Garden”. The Moon thing was entirely unintentional as well, position, lense and I would say the magical synergy that occurs between your mind, soul and the camera when you are consuming the art of capturing moments made the image look like that, and what is even more special,to me at least, is that it without my knowledge and skill perfectly shown and depicted how I was seeing everything that day with my eyes even though its natural colors were different.
      I deeply encourage you, and everyone for that matter, to just go out and shoot (with the camera!) be it night, day, whichever season, because you never know what can happen and we live in a time where editing of the photos is much more available and easy to wrangle then before, it offers countless of possibilities that enchance the possibilities of you expressing yourself and leaving a trace, be it for you only or for you + the world. Even the blurriest, granniest of shots are still amazingly beautiful and if someone says otherwise, remember that there are people who think Dali for example was an idiot and his paintings are ugly yet there are also those who adore his work 🙂

      • Wow what lovely advice. I appreciate nsture so much more now it was nearly taken away from me. Having been immobile for so long in the past when I finally got out it was as if my eyes just opened hehe. Walks can take quite a long time lol just due to me stopping and snapping constantly xx

  13. Why did this made me think of that passage to forum, the closed one…the lost one…lingering in cage and bars…

  14. That wait must not last that long that the air around you adds layers of anticipation on you and in the end, you even forget what you were waiting for, bewildered, lost in time, encircling the place where your heart once was.
    Oloriel, that is such a sensitively written piece so much so that I have used an adverb(which I normally avoid using)… the tactile sense that emerges from your words is like when you hurt yourself because it is a sweet pain.

    “That turns you into a verse before a hint of tenderness,/So you leak out like that/Into the sunny day”- Amazing.

    • Thank you very much, HA! I love that this poem is having different meanings for different people, it is what brings me the greatest of writer’s joys.
      I love what you said about ‘sweet pain”

  15. This poem has such a wistful feel to me, Oloriel. I tried to read it several times last week via the reader and FB, but the page just wouldn’t open. Nevermind, I finally got to read it today.

  16. Read three times, still no clear image comes to mind. First thought it was a dream but . . . doubt it. Must read again. Later.

    • I wish I could show you the street, so you could feel the prickling limbo that it offers and force-feeds you, but like the waiting for something that is good is not pretty, neither is this street, so none threads it, they just pause in it for a mere minute or two then go onwards pretending it is non-existing, denying it, while some of us do not mind waiting there, for the good things to come, even if it takes forever; even if the waiting starts to wholy define you 🙂

  17. I came back as I’d said I would. Now with a little more understanding. Thanks to your hint.

    You say it’s a street but it could be life itself of which you speak. Especially as illustrated in stanza 2:

    You pass there with many, hand in hand,
    And you are not even aware,
    How everything inside looks at you
    In the weirdest of ways,
    All stares into your soul,

    Life exhibits self-similar patterns at every level. The fundamentals are intrinsic. Whether in rocks, trees, streets. Like Mandelbrot’s fractals.

    I love the ingenuity manifest in following lines:

    “That turns you into a verse before a hint of tenderness . . . Like a threnody with no regards, selfish, solitary . . .”

    Thank you for sharing such a deeply-felt work.

  18. Fabulously written as always, what beautiful imagery … loved:

    While only a few steps away
    The white oleander buds melted
    And spread into distances,
    The wandering souls run and hail …

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