MARIJA NAJTHEFER POPOV

 

MARIJA NAJTHEFER POPOV

 

 The Moon Was Breaking

 

 The moon was breaking

On the river,

With a longing look

It watched Danica,

Naked in the shallows

How, foam from the clouds,

The body rubs

Sponge from the captured

Shooting star…

And, he had a burning desire

To lick her with a sickle

A mask of birch tears

From the face…

He hugged her from behind

Breathing the scents of medicinal herbs

Tangled in her hair,

Red as a rose…

He broke down,

Broke out of fear and shame,

Loaded with a hoop

Unknown number of Stars

What, kicking their feet

By eager silence

Painting a magical picture

Nights, full of hidden desires

On the spill moonlight

And, to one's own soul…

 

 

Here, Where Does Your Cry Begin

 

Here, where does your cry begin

The madness of fear of uncertainty

Take my roar here

Thirst for you

Muffled in my womb

Where do puppies go for a long time

The devil’s hints

Have a good thought

Through the air in silence

No voice and words

They recognize themselves, the same

You crazy in courage

I lost my mind in conviction

They would bring everything down in front of them

If they were to go

Guided by heated needs

To make it true

Meeting two beasts

Trapped in morals

Sacrifice in the pictures of purity

Fans in falsehood

We are turning the vassion over

We are tearing her womb

Vapeči vapeči

And neither is she

Not us either

Not even those beasts in ours

To the ogallala truth

They don’t dare to go

To merge with bloody bites

More gentle than a blink of an eye

The fire in the view

Which one cracks me up

And every word you say

He takes the hoops off me

Chains no longer have power

Just words on paper

Barley barley

I’m silent in the cramp of the drowner

So many screams

Stuck in the trachea

If I break my lungs

The storm will kill the silence

The beasts will be spoiled

Passions from my womb

With your call overnight

In the dead silence

 

Naive Belief

 

It is naive to believe,

That is not clear to us,

Why don't the stars extinguish?

In these tiny morning hours

Of loneliness before the dawn

It is a story of the truth,

All fantasies are true,

And they are truly possible.

It is the time, I meet with words,

And burn them in the fire of madness,

Which we have in our youth

Marked by passions,

Which wakes up and culminates

Us in our visions.

marijanajtheferpopov@

 

MARIJA NAJTHEFER POPOV