POEM - THE WORLD TO THE CORE, Poetess -Jasmina Cirkovic

THE WORLD TO THE CORE
Jasmina Cirkovic

On the acrobatics of generosity, I copied myself.
My spirit, prayer, warmth, sorrow, courage.
Abysses gaping without hands, legs, supports; hopelessness cornered in the recesses of consciousness.
Here, there is no feigning of scions, diligent workers, vocabulary masters,
irritating narcissists.
Here, life quivers in the eyes.
In sockets without a bottom.
In a soul sneaking toward the exit.
The audacity of concubine time zones, with an arrogant key,
touches a painful tone.
An aria of self-love arises.
There where Saints watch,
where God’s hand touches,
that is where stories go.
Blindness in artistic garb brings forth
the full force of recklessness.
The world behind the scenes of a smile,
original castlings of consciousness, cataclysmic valleys of uncritical thought, parade in pairs.
Great celestial blues remain unfathomable.
Dusty roads down which the carriage departs,
with the honor of persecution, single out a feast of imaginary dishes.
The open space, of enigmatic essence,
happily abandons the chapter of demolished stereotypical marginal festivities.
At the waning of the day, when the sum becomes larger than the soul’s span,
all seas fit into a pitcher,
all smiles into one, I summon the universe, cover myself with a beam of light, pour out a tear,
I find the sphere,
I find the Almighty’s hand.