detail from: KRK Art

FACE OF MY SOUL

I

My soul

has only the face,

it has no shadow,

the other side or way.

Facing the full light

where the darkness is dissolved,

and has been transformed into something pure,

the being itself,

 knowing everything about suffering.

Suffering is breathing,

walking, the idea

the flicker of a thought

and it perceives the harmony.

II

Everything is pain,

disappearance.

Pain

and inability

to blunt the blade of consciousness

to turn

tiny fragile wheel

which drives this cold,

frost and ice,

powerful,

but invisible

and inscrutable,

as God Himself.

III

Eternal question,

everyone's,

sorted variously,

never figured out

as life,

and as death,

above,

and more

incomprehensible,

as self-impregnation,

or self-death,

as salvation.

IV

Beginning and the end torture the mind.

Everything else is known.

Life as happiness,

or unhappiness,

like hunger         

and thirst,

a song       

and crying

path and escape,

like a decision,

brave,

without looking back,

or fear,

chills,

sensed by body,

by hand,

by eye,

by lip,

or just by dream.

Life as nothing

although everything it is.

V

Between the beginning

and the end

is a string of pearls

asp eggs   

scarlet,

apples,

and dogberries,

wasp’s bites,

nightmares,

bachelors’ voices

and the girls’ giggles, 

that is it.

VI

Beginning lures backward,

hampers,

reverses gait,

requires a new measure

and character.

Longing to a pre-beginning,

to that murk,

decanted,

countless times

which has left its trace, 

invisible,

but powerful,

although misunderstood.

VII

Beginning wants tempering

in volcanic lava

that announces itself,

and it is foretoken

only by a tremble of an eyeball,

only drowsiness,

open hand,

prayer for the sunset.

VIII

Fire of volcano

is mother of my fire,

the everlasting fever

that follows all my illnesses,

and while I am enfolding it

it is expands,

wiggles,

escapes,

in my mind,

in the wilderness,

paves the paths to the glades,

inbred pictures,

landscapes dedicated

to humbly survival

devotional stay

on this unbelievable planet

which has already been distressed

by its darlings,

who have taken advantage of it,

withered and nibbled it,

as shameless children

who haven’t met their parents

never loved them,

but only tolerated them,

and together they were unhappy.

IX

Opposite the beginning is the end.

I have seen it.

Several times.

My own end.

I imagined it.

Directed myself,

devised.

All preparatory work I wrote down.

But when I was supposed to start

with performance

some stone moved,

mind got upset,

and everything was held for the better,

more convenient time,

for larger storm,

for bigger madness

and greater concentration.

X

Is it the end - end,

or is the beginning

What an old and silly question!

God,

I knew so much,

and I had not been told anything.

I solved nothing.

Just a hunch,

future memories

evidence of weakness,

radiate in a circle,

as far as the sight can reach,

and a thought,

and furthermore,

idea of persistence,

on new meaning

thought of nothing,

something

somewhat,

not a thing.

XI

Pre-thoughts.  

It is a waste.

Pre-thought is a paused thought

shady spot,

attempt to ignite a spark,

without turning the light on,

fear to see a character,

image and sign,

grasp the knowledge,

whole, and final,

in this world of chaos,

chaos for which there is no letter,

no sign

but only a new hunch,

just outcry.

© Duška Vrhovac

Translated into English by Aleksandar Malešević with Milica McNally

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