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THE DAY AFTER

When all the roses wither
the chocolate hearts melt
and the colorful balloons fly away
we are left alone
and the ether
full of unspoken words
maybe hidden, a smile in the darkness...
-
Cannons remain
in the mud of a buried quarrel
uncertainty
what would have been, and how it would be
a palm full of sweat
masks
and without masks
when we just look at each other from under the eye
unwritten letters...
-
an hour, a day or more days later
when the bells ring
and all the gifts are from yesterday
and we sink into today
the road is still long
and our legs tremble
while many questions float...
-
were the stars brighter
did my lips kiss you better
and the music clearer
or were we just waiting for the day after...
-
for Valentine's Day
and all the funny holidays
people will always
love and hate each other the same
I don't need an excuse
that you  I prepare breakfast
while you still dream
that you are in my safe hands
hidden from the world
where there are no guns
nor price increases
lies and deception
...
the day after
raise your right eyebrow high
look at me from under your eyelashes
and let's head towards the sun
down our famous street
step by step
patiently
there are many holes on the road to heaven
we need to jump over them all
or maybe we can
forget the road
to heaven
and just love each other....
WHEN I LOVE YOU, JUST LIKE THIS...
-
When I love you
just like this
Immensely
I am an asteroid from the depths of space
that hits your chest
-
All movies and fantasy heroes
don't have such power
when I love you
just like this
very
blindly
crazy to the point of pain...
-
Because when I love you
just like this
I give myself completely
and don't ask
if you love me too
just like this...
JUST A DAY...

Just an ordinary day
to some not so ordinary
so I won't be boring
and repeat myself
too much...
-
I'll just bring you verses and rose petals today and tomorrow
and yesterday...
-
Because every day we love
is so special...
When I was building you, I went to the old hill, where the fairies danced, I chose the hardest stone, the granite foundation, with heavy iron and a calloused hand, I carved you from morning till night,
again
and again and again...
-
When you were carving me, they went to the forest of giants, cut down the tallest oak, chose the strongest trunk, and with kisses tore off the bark,
carved me from moring till night
again
and again, again
-
Until one day, when we emerged from the darkness, my fortress and your boat, under the restless sea, we put up the same flag, intertwined the walls and sails, danced an ode to the wind and sang to the sun that watches over us...
-
- And then a storm came, and the clouds hid everything, even the moon, the magical mornings disappeared, the songs fell asleep, only the echo of the iron striking the  heavy stone
and hard branches break
let's build ourselves again
to last
more
than one summer...
UNDER PRESSURE

To write anything
to push the clouds out of my mind
I remember
what it was like to kiss
someone you love for the first time
really
not as passionately, crazy
as a bee on a daisy flower
without pressure
optional
and so crazy
new
primordial...
-
Under pressure
to write again, something deep
to carve myself into your heart
wide
while the gloomy clouds tighten around me
I give in
and write too much
and write
and erase...
-
Under pressure
I realize
only the little things matter
so I give in
and let the letters
fly
just like the first kiss
the one
that made the planet
turn upside down...
I watched you last night. In a dream. Sad. Dead.
In the fatal hall, in the idyll of flowers,
On a high bier, in the agony of candles,
Ready to give you my life as a sacrifice.

I did not cry. I did not. I stood stunned
In the fatal hall, full of beautiful death,
Doubting that dark eyes are clear,
Where a better life once shone for me.

Everything, everything is dead: eyes, breath and hands,
Everything that I desperately wanted to revive
In blind terror and in the passion of torment,
In the fatal hall, with thoughts in gray.
Only your hair was still alive,
So he said to me: – Be still! In death one dreams...
Antun Gustav Matos, my ferorit Ctoatian poet...write 1906....just byutifull...
Good morning,  
sleepy souls—  
peel off the night’s masks,  
slip on the day’s,  
and keep wandering through life  
as if you’re the first  
and the last...  

Or pause for a beat,  
glance over your shoulder—  
you might spot something new,  
something  
not yet inked...  

Kiss your own palm,  
your mother’s fingers,  
or the cheek of your greatest love.  
But what is that love,  
the deepest one?  
Likely, it’s never been  
written...  

Good morning, writers—  
try.  
Maybe today you’ll catch it,  
between butterfly wings
or in the blink of an eye:  
the one  
still unwritten...
In the search for verses, words, letters, we forget that real poetry, real love, is in the little things right next to us...P.S.  sorry for my bad English, I'm Croatian, but we're better at football than writing...
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