Broken
It feels like waking up next to a ghost
and craving for life
and getting lost,
and I want to hold the girl that
I used to be,
tell her that ancient secret for me
doesn’t mean more than a sweet lie –
come on little girl,
be brave, don’t cry.
Broken, like a glass of wine
after a fight,
broken with all that was mine,
without no light,
broken like a preacher of forgotten prayers,
like a painting with no colours and layers,
and never asking the reason why –
come on little girl,
be brave, don’t cry.
You have left me so many times before
but I always tend to ask for more,
I never stop and never believe –
come on little girl,
be brave, just leave.
The sea blues
The night is falling over the water,
turning the view into a black curtain
with golden dust.
I am losing my mind over old reflections
of the moon, dispersing the fears
like the golden rust.
Life is slow here.
And the air is humid
so tears often go unnoticed,
and the words get lost
in the waves,
sent from Poseidon in protest.
I slowly die in your arms,
I drink the wild air
like I used to drink wine.
I toss and turn in
grave of olives,
waving to the sun that never shines.
Word missing
There is always this word
I am missing
to send out the right message to the world.
There are these lips
I am no longer kissing
and my empty hand is silent and curled.
In my most beautiful nights
I always saw the full moon,
waving at me like a well-known stranger.
The sun simply had to
leave me too soon,
too many times I was kissing the danger.
An yet I never wanted to leave
this love,
this beast that was growing inside my head.
I never pretended to be the someone
else,
rushing to sleep, all came to an end.
There is always this word
I am missing,
like a never-ending course it bounces in my head.
In my mind the Sun and the Moon
are forever kissing,
leaving behind them the golden thread.
The end
Let me hold your dreams while you shake off
the golden dust from your skirt,
and let me release my hopes
that there is nothing left for you to get hurt.
Let me open those curtains that hide the light
from your memories,
let me share with you all the magical herbs,
let my words be your remedies.
Let me hold your pain while you slowly
walk done the path of never found peace,
and let me protect your eyes, wings of a
powerful bird that needs to be released.
Let me hold you fear like a flower
in my hand,
let me share the loss, then the power
of coming to an end.
Walking
I am walking on the needles of past lives
That fit so nicely in the portrait of my pain,
I am holding onto sparkling memories
That never wanted to hug loss and shame.
I am leaving without any luggage,
Starting the voyage without big expectations,
Without tricky addresses, postcards, hauntings,
With no tickets and no stations.
I left you – but I still breathed with same eyes,
hands, heart, and lungs,
Sometimes I wrote to you from desperation
About my travels, my comebacks, and my runs.
Maybe you didn’t believe me,
I can still feel your hearth stalking,
But I don’t know any better –
and I just keep walking.
Sick
“I love you more than my own skin.”
Frida Kahlo
I got sick because of your love,
thinking how beautiful is to die
from this singing illness.
I never knew which herbs to
take that would make me escape,
and now I beg myself for forgiveness.
I got sick with all the words
coming from another world,
like songs of beautiful birds,
words that simply hurled.
I got sick because you loved me
too much – although I was never enough,
I got sick like life wasn’t
already tough,
thinking I would live, love and laugh.
I got sick because of your love,
thinking how beautiful is to be
awaken by sounds of a violin,
and now that I have left, you know:
I loved you more than my own skin.
Lie
When everything else is a lie
I need you to be the truth –
and when the memories tremble and cry,
I need you to retell the youth.
Love
I don’t speak Japanese
but they told me that
Itoshi teru
means I love you –
and that is what I do.
I would love to kiss you in French
saying je t’aime
while you roll your eyes
begging me to forget the cliche
I heard from you Ich liebe dich
a couple of times in our decades
of love and fight
of dark and light
and maybe it was a
я тебя люблю
but your words
always powerful and strong
sounded like German to me
I would maybe
sing to you in Italian
waving from the window
kissed by the Sicilian sun:
Ciao bello
And although my Chinese
is not so good
I would try to be the one and only
emperor of your world, or a warrior
maybe, your own Mulan
In Spanish I could try to use
castagnette more than words
(although te quiero sounds
like an oath or a promise
a dream, and a kiss)
and I would passionately try
to dance for you
like there is no tomorrow
or need for sorrow
or words that are
hurtful and simply hurled
I would love you in all
the languages of this world.
About the Author
Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić (Podgorica, Montenegro, 1979) is a professor of English and a passionate writer of prose and poetry for children and grownups. She has participated in festivals and competitions across the globe and her work has won prizes and acknowledgments. Her work is published in more than 50 international anthologies, and literature/culture websites and portals. Aleksandra writes in her native language and English, and her poetry has been translated into Spanish, Italian, Polish, Chinese and other languages. She is a member of the Association of Montenegrin authors for children and runs a cultural centre in her town.
