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1.4k · Aug 2011
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
our feet move as million lights go on and off
in our bedrooms; where we keep each others
secrets; there are still corners of our skin,
that we haven't yet discovered; and it's strange
how your whole body fits on the windowsill
our eyes live a life of their own
judging all of our shells; with dreams in our
hands, yet still looking tiny to the world; our
lungs keep count of the steps we've taken;
stretching the hands above our heads; making
flying birds with our fingers; few inches into
the air they reach, makes us feel closer to the universe
our bodies lie naked in the soil
dancers born between the night and day;
catching the feeling of infinity on wide
open plains; there's no need to feel shame;
after all, the sun doesn't make any difference in
silhouettes between your body and mine
Video for the poem:;=share
1.3k · Mar 2013
Natasa Dolenc Mar 2013
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
1.1k · Aug 2011
Question mark
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
I keep a ?
upon my forefinger
as I hold it up high
funny enough,
it gets lost
in the flood of !s'
yet it yearns for a .
or another **?
1.1k · Aug 2011
Willow twig
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
a tree abandoned by the forest
and overshadowed by the sky
knows this kind of loneliness
where no doe would seek shelter
and no bee share its fruits
seeds fall gently into the stream
where the wind gives no answers
and the clouds race forward
offer no shoulder to the teary twig
there the roots are small, yet they find
a way through the hardest of soils
and the driest of seasons
hide in a place where the fire
doesn't turn cold
1.0k · May 2013
When we are ourselves
Natasa Dolenc May 2013
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.
-also painted a picture for this one.
959 · Aug 2011
Age fools us
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
owl is howling into the deep of the night
date is changed within one second
I'm sitting on the bottom of your closet
your clothes hanging like dead bodies
while you lay naked on the sofa, asleep
the hot air plays tricks with the mind

I can barely remember how I felt turning twenty-two
                                 ---- my favourite number
spent it with strangers who were too eager to become friends
and you'd like to believe the fun will last
but it's no better than those birthday parties I had as a kid,
when nobody showed up
feeling uncomfortable in clothes they made me wear
now I can't recapture the meaning a cake had

god is like a girl picking daisies
playing "love me, love me not" with our lives
we like to believe we change
but there are things we can't shake off
never being courageous enough to trust myself
with responsibility on my hands
always feeling like a first time playing the game
awkwardness in my mouth and my fingers
forgive me for always doubting, never trusting the words
and you use the sweetest one's which calm me down like a spell
I'll take you for a walk if you can listen to my silent thoughts

age carries prejudice into which we are fooled to believe
as if years shape all of us in the same way
as if we gain respect by mere number of our age
as if it really matters how old our flesh is
age fools us in a way and leaves no room for closeness
but I just want to sit beside you as you paint
Natasa Dolenc Apr 2013
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.
696 · Oct 2011
After the storm
Natasa Dolenc Oct 2011
so many crickets
willing to speak after the storm
beneath the soil
roots explore the wet blackness
searching for water
and a source of life
you can never tell
what the flood will wash ashore
the waves keep erasing the tracks
without a question
for their passion is infinite
and their love bigger than the sky
sometimes fog
makes you see things clearer
in a little booklet - video:
671 · Aug 2011
Remembering imprints
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
sway, sway, sway
through the winter wind
bended wings in the snowcovered land
these nights I keep dreaming of the sea
wrapped under the warmth of an endless horizon

on the night sky I chose a light
to break the loneliness of sitting on the roof
more and more faces have faded, lacking time
mirrors can talk, but never listen
shadows creep out of their shape

glitter on the eyelashes melts
feels like going blind
there are many reflections of me
but none of them is true
still they are lasting

living without playing any roles
left out of other peoples' stories
never to show all the cards
you can move on, but never really leave
your heart, like the snow,
-- remembering imprints
619 · Apr 2013
Two lovers lost at war
Natasa Dolenc Apr 2013
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.
609 · Oct 2011
Hands, Fingers and Arms
Natasa Dolenc Oct 2011
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
see the video here:;=share
586 · Apr 2013
Natasa Dolenc Apr 2013
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,
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!
561 · Aug 2011
Wearing Autumn
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
don't be fooled by this white dress
these curves and lines
in truth, I am wearing autumn
colourful coats, wind at the feet
waving dark golden hair
got caught in her adorable breath
her face blooming with wisdom
gracefully she walks in
bringing with her the cold
that goes into my hands
and I hide them
in the pockets of my coat
drying my hair in the wind
drinking from her well
thinking through her slightly
melancholic mind
for you see, I am always wearing autumn
Video for the poem:
This poem is included in my poetry collection Colours of the sea.
504 · Aug 2011
Wingless child
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
the side of you that you're most ashamed of
will come back years later, haunting your mind
        sun is sailing down behind the horizon
sitting on the porch, at the end of another day
I just can't distinguish one from the other anymore
                                            trying to make it count
running around the house, chasing sparks
each run bored me a bit more, knew every corner of the cage
you wanted me to remain silent, perfectly happy
that way you wouldn't have to deal with the words

a wingless child
left traces of tears on the pillow
drops of innocent affection
tried to glue the movie back together
I believed those faces would have something to say
         but as my face grew older
their attention withered
repeating old patterns
until you know them by heart
         pain is just a reminder
leaves when you start listening

my fingers found new depths of the pockets
         walking through those narrow streets
anxious stomach, anti-social behaviour
shouldn't have let the fear guide me on the way
         little child selling the dreams away
for a chance of buying fake wings
and maybe fly for just a day
Yet another poem from my poetry/photography collection Colours of the sea.
498 · Aug 2011
Child left behind
Natasa Dolenc Aug 2011
days roll faster and faster
things you knew and loved
have gone away or been replaced
pages written have gotten fewer and fewer
you acknowledge the change in the year’s number
but you're stuck at a point in the past
abandoned by the spoken words
mind free to run through the fields and far beyond
to bathe in the lake of your imagination
found yourself in a conflict with the form
for it is unmoving, stable and caught
but it taught you senses through which you feel
in search for a way in which you could be at ease
to grab the thing that keeps you from singing
and not to be a friend of shadows
there are so many stories in which you played a part
but left them before the end was written
in this world it only matters
how good you sell yourself
how good you please others
what kind of living is this?
when you feel most alive in your dreams
but the fear and expectations push you further
as the desire to return to the child
left behind gets bigger and bigger
This poem is included in the last chapter in my poetry/photography collection - Colours of the sea.
480 · Feb 2013
For love
Natasa Dolenc Feb 2013
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

— The End —