In an endless blue, I hold up a red balloon;
waiting for things to happen.
We lost something familiar in the connection,
as the nervous river of thought feeds our bodies,
in cloaks of invisibility we wish to hide.
Hands that used to wipe away our tears,
when there were monsters under our beds,
have grown away from us.
So we learnt to be unmoved and untouched.
We hide our vulnerability under our cloaks.
How can we ignite a life into a new heart
and call it an accident?
Then we are tragedies,
crashing one over another.
We are not a definition of life.
We collect pieces and dots of eternal summer rays
and flickering shadows of raindrops.
How those insignificant stains make a much more meaningful picture.
A single drop can colour a glass full of water,
before it melts away – that’s what happens when we are ourselves.

cells are not the greatest of liars
they document everything,
conscious or unconscious,
things we'd call waste
this body has been caged by my thoughts
beaten by words,
judged by penetrating eyes,
scorn by social media,
reshaped by depression,
extinguished.
fallen,
a back that got strong from all the rising up's
there is a strong taste of desire
to bloom
eager to pull all the weeds
so our gardens would over shine
the mess we've made
there's something growing inside
I felt it move today
the gentle sound of a seed bursting
and small roots caressing
jumping through the shadows of the mind
I do not know what it feeds on
and if it's been here all this time
waiting for a perfect moment
to change the strings of my voice
blossom needs a spine to stand
mine has been long time in the making
leaves are pushing on the stitch
from the inside
oh, wait, I think I'm gonna sneeze!


http://natasek.blogspot.com/2013/04/poem-growing.html

She cut out her heart and buried it in the depths of autumn,
left with a heart shaped box of leaves.
She said: »It's a long way back into dust.«
and in between the words you could hear the trees whisper.
She looked at herself in the mirror,
felt like the reflection echoed into infinity,
through glass and camera she admired her shadow;
until someone with a heart of snow touched her skin.
Her body shivered under the cold and stumbled down at his feet.
She saw a glimpse of a boy she chased down the streets when they were kids.
Clenched her thighs and bit her lower lip,
for all the mistakes and bad decisions she has made.
His presence was exhilarating, chilling to the bone,
with a touch he brought snow and frost to her heart shaped box.
She was spell-bound; the cold was her first weakness.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find a reflection of his.
She asked: »How can someone be and not leave an echo in infinity?«
The next hand that touched her, had a heart of flowers.
Sweet scent of life expanded from his chest.
Although he could satisfy her pleasures like a long forgotten dream,
she kept yearning for the cold.
The last hand to touch her, had a heart of sunshine;
such a cliché to melt under the softness of a touch,
admiring the flickering lights his rays left behind.
He painted on her skin and in between her collarbones
he placed a locket of a secret garden and said:
»Use your little key to open it, whenever you wish to escape.«
One night her curious mind pushed her to open the locket,
in there she found a glass with glittering light.
All the burning reflections ignited a fire to the leaves in her heart shaped box.
He said: »Now you are finally closer to dust, just like you wanted.«
Looking back into his eyes she whispered with regret:
»If only you would love the rain.«

If only she knew, the next heart to touch her would love the rain.

http://natasek.blogspot.com/2013/03/poem-if-only-you-would-love-rain.html

Feather fell down in a dusky lighted room,
with enough sound to be noticed,
but not enough to draw attention.
The same manner in which I’ve been
opening and closing doors.
Dreams we make up as kids,
'cause later we forget how to dream.
Even if they are taken away from us,
it is important to create them.
Otherwise today has no more tomorrow.
All that we know, we can capture in a glimpse.
Our expectations are greater,
but they blindfold us.
The flowers on the window
and candles at the door.
A ballet dancer as a dandelion puff,
bending the arms as if to speak;
in a storm that comes and goes
as if with the waves.
Standing on a floating feather,
with an angel weeping at the shoulder.
We haven't been running,
yet we have always been racing,
since the day we were born.
We shed our skins and call it dust.
Fear finds the smallest of cracks
and it permeates through.
Growing bigger in an anxious mind.
There is still place to leave a trace.
Curiosity takes you a step further
and awards you with undiscovered lands.
Remember the feeling when your heart
just can’t take it anymore?
Chasing eternity through the golden summer fields;
there is quite enough light to hope,
for two lovers lost at war.


http://natasek.blogspot.com/2013/04/poem-two-lovers-lost-at-war.html

this ribcage is a door behind which hides an ocean
sounds of the waves escape the mouth
I moved around the kitchen as carelessly as I used to
my body independent from the wanting
these egoistic creatures upon which I stand
never made enough use of their strong fibre
rocks and water have left marks on my skin
earth fighting a battle on the surface of our bodies
like bubbles - when you poke it, the air gets out

I belong to you, a bit wearied and bent
diving through each dark coloured leaf
I push my palms against the starlit sky
space between the earth and the moon is mine
I wish you'd make a constellation out of the marks on my skin
and fall in love with each one of them
I wrote it in capital letters so you would know
the adjective that was missing; like your voice
that used to remind me of who I really am

a tree extends across my back as wings would
there is a place on the back of my neck
where you can kiss me and make the branches shiver
so I can feel the eternity rushing through the veins
but »never« is a word unknown to this suit
the future doesn't look so infinite
growing old with the dread of ending
let the body not be aware of its mortality
moon is the heart, stardust is the blood

http://natasek.blogspot.com/2013/03/poem-belong.html

Pellets of roses touched her chest -
as raindrops on the skin.
She heard lies spreading through the wind,
a hollow laughter beyond the trees.

He laid by her side.
A tiny arm reached out from underneath the blanket
to calm the restless thoughts of a maniac.
He choked on her kindness every time.

He whispered: »I did it for you.«
»I did it for love.«
»Love fears no reason.«
»This could be so much better.«

He stood at the door.
Watched closely, he couldn't believe the coward he's become.
»Don't whisper«, she said.
Through the lines of a camera everyone lies.

They wrote love
on the backs of their palms.
As birds, their fingers flew
through each others' hair.

Moon hung on their shoulders.
As he stroked her hair away from her eyes,
she said: »All great stories end in tragedy.«
No mirrors, no glass left un-shattered.

Time is the one thing that is theirs
and it's running out, running high.
»Let's travel the distance to the sun« he said.
»Hold me one last time,« she whispered.

Heartbeats follow the lifelines,
soundlessly and gently, till they stop.
It ends and begins the with the same
                                                      light.

I imagine my HANDS
...having a watch to count the good deeds
...having strength to raise children so they would be brave
...having posture to express more empathy than conformity
...using sparks that light up the hearts in need
...having enough warmth to offer shelter in the coldest of times
...having wisdom to share with others
...can set aside the differences between us
...knowing every forest like the back of the hand

I imagine my FINGERS
...making symphonies with the stroke of grain
...are able to speak to the deaf
...don't tremble at the thought of fear
...can paint a better picture
...reaching into the deepest places in search for truth
...can recite old, forgotten tales
...can untangle the mysteries of the universe
...are the best toys and learning tools

I imagine my ARMS*
...are as soft as pillows, that dry away the sadness
...are calming like the sea waves
...are not tired after a days work
...have the power to stand the time
...are growing new flowers
...offering support to every blossom or seed
...can dance joyfully with anyone
...can welcome birth and death with the same grace

and in the end I imagine they are able to forgive
what has or hasn't been done