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Slavica Čizmić

Slavica Čizmić, Split, R Hrvatska

 

Rođena sam u Splitu gdje živim i radim. Poezija je već dugi niz godina moj vijerni prijatelj i moja likarija. Izdate su mi tri zbirke poezije « Iz mog kantuna, »Mirakul « te zbirka « Dota ». Dosta pjesama mi je zastupljeno u zbornicima. Nastupala sam u TV i radio emisijama. S uživanjem sam svoje stihove čitala na raznim druženjima i tako upoznala bezbroj draih ljudi te su tako stvorena i divna prijeteljstva. Ovo je moj mali djelić mene.

 

SAMO PRIČICA

 

Sjedila je u čipkastoj haljini samoće. Po tko zna koji put, čekajući da na vratima pokuca bolje sutra. Osluškujući svoje panične otkucaje srca, prelistavajući iznova svoju davno ukoričenu knjigu sudbine. Pogled u ogledalu razotkrio je naborano lice starice, zamućena pogleda umornu od čekanja. Neobično običan dan bez novih likova, bez neobičnih zvukova. Možda za nijansu sivija agonija. U tim danima progovaralo je njeno srce onom opakom tišininom što boli jače, od fizičke  boli Užurbano kolanje krvotoka nejasno uznemireno stvaralo nepodnošljive šumove. Hodajući po dvostrukoj oštrici mača samo na tren pomisli da je bila voljena. Nježno je pokušala svilenom vrpcom svezati svoja umrtvljena čula za preostali dio duše. Zadovoljna  mrvicama, ne očekujući  čuda križala je na kalendaru svakodnevno potrošeno vrijeme. Znajući da je i ovaj put u bescjenje prodana, da je ponovo izdana. Trajala je još uvik u istom izdanju. Izvana kraljica s razdraganim osmjehom, u svojim zidinama obična slaba plačljivica. Koji joj je to vjetar otpuhao godine, slomio jedra i jarbole. Onemoćao stisak ruke, sve češće pogrešno slovo kod pisanja poruke. Čak ni za to nema  volje.Lažući  samu sebe  da joj je svejedno što je  zaboravljena. Kao  davaoc  mudrih savjeta  uvijek spremna  dajući se cijela. Za sebe nije  mogla pronaći svijetli prizor  podno tereta crnog granita.Molila je zelene zmajeve da joj vrate otrgnute djelove tijela. Sve svoje učitelje već davno je izgubila.Udomljeni su  u nekim sretnim prividima, teturajući kroz život onako pijano nesretni.Vezani  lancima, tako jako prisutni ne želeći se odreći svoje sigurnosti. Zove je otvoren prozor na razgovor  s morem, s Bogom,na jedinu istinsku ispovijed. Žao joj je da ga umara svojim nesuvislim riječima, svojim nerealnim željama dubokoumnim analizama. Tisuće kapi kiše je umilo njen žrtveni hram, razvodnjeno šaputanje na mokrom jastuku. Sve uži je krug prijatelja, rodbine, poznanika. A ni  preostali  ne vide ne čuju  vapaj. Zaslužila je Oskara, ne zbog njih, zbog sebe. Nevjerovatno sigurna u svoje odluke krene posložiti prioritete i napokon zavoljeti sebe. To tako smiješno  kratko traje  do sljedećeg treptaja. Navuče svoju zavjesu,zagrli svoju tišinu. Tu je gospodarica svog  kraljevstva, svojih skorenih trepavica, svog herpesa, celulita. Još jedan dan u čekanju Godoa, još jedan pogled prema  vratima dozivajući bolje sutra. Samo mijenja haljine, ovisno o količini  tereta koji taj dan preuzme, ovisno o količini žuči koja se do grla penje. Izazivajući kontrakcije praznog želudca. Jedini sadržaj uzburkan u tim trenucima je kofein  i nikotin u pozamašnim postotcima. Svaka joj miriše  na  grižnju savjesti. Ni jeftini parfem ne pomaže neutralizirati  rubove  prokletstva. Sluša je more, ruga joj se, smije, kao u poznatoj pjesmi, a ona ga opet još uvijek neizmjerno l jubi.Tek  dosuđen šapat  zaustavi je na stepenicama  na putu  do svog najdražeg  skloništa, di se prečesto skrivala. Gdje se ranjava, gdje oprašta, gdje zaboravlja. Opet  je tu blizina hladnih zidina miris plijesni u nosnicama. Paučina visoko isprepletena, nedodirljiva podrhtava od njenih uzdaha. Kakvo joj to sunce treba da zagrije grčevitu bol, da otopi led u žilama. Nakupljene naslage sive pokore. Sumlja u ropstvo ljubavi, najteža kazna ciničnog divljenja srceparajućih filmova. Zagoren ručak, bezoblična masa nalik njenom očaju po ko zna koji put je natjera da obuje plesne cipelice, da zapjeva davno zaboravjeni stih, da ne potone zbog nekih dragih ručica, da se uzdigne zbog njih. Nesigurnost u tonovima. Opet zapetljana u konopima  pitanja i odgovora promiču joj putokazi, igrokazi  nekih svijetlih boja. Probudi se ženo iz stanja obamrlosti opet postani svoja. Ne dolikuje ti samozažaljenje, već otvoren rat na putu za iskupljenje. Nikoga nije briga što ćeš i ovu noć slušati cvrčkovu pjesmu na dalekom boru maštajući o nekim  modrim baršunastim  jutrima. Imaš još razloga da pronađeš  u pijesku  ključeve zlatnih vjetrenjača onu  raskošnu  nit što te s nebom spaja, s  podnožja tvog srušenog hrama. Oživi svoj lik, ne pretvaraj  se u kip bez sjaja.Potpiši ugovor o vlastitom  djelu, raduj se svome tijelu i hodaj. Ne pretvaraj ženu u sjenu dok još čuješ glas kraljevskog glasnika što na tobom bdije. Prihvati svete moći darovane mjesečevom svjetlosti, vidljiv trag  s oblaka koji s tobom snije. Skini  vječnu koprenu samoće,  ponudi srebrni glas  slušatelju i predivni osmjeh gledatelju. Ravnodušnost je opasnost,tek malen korak do predaje.Na poraz tad sve zamiriše. Robinje prošlosti nek napune krčage i ponesu ih na rijeku zaborava.Stražari vjere sačuvaće svaku kap dostojnu sjećanja, dostojnu oprosta. Probudi  se dušo zbog jednog  jedinog  dodira,kavalira futura  što umije da te ljubi  s tvojom tugom u očima.Pokušaj ne prosuti  tu malenu žlicu šećera što je tu, da pelin zasladi. Nije sve zvijezde mrkla noć pokrila, možda baš zbog tebe jedna se noćas rodila.

 

OBEĆANJE

 

Obećaj

da ćeš me čekati

tamo di nebo je

inbrojun modrih šumova.

Na starome  mistu

di  resla je rič najlipja

naših umova.

Dvojnost drugačijih putnika

u  portu sna.

Baš tu,

probudiću se ja.

Plaši me pinku

pogled u dlan,

naziranje suze sudbinske

za jedan savršen dan.

Obećaj mi pohode

na školane istine,

u magli nostalgičnih ura.

Da samo znaš,

koliko je puta

iza mojih škura

učinjena inventura žeja.

Sve joj se više otimam.

Obećaj  putovanje

pogleda ispod obrva,

u  kojem svitliće lanterne

zaboravjenih noći.

Na tebi je samo,

na drugu obalu prići

da ćutiš kako

istina  liči.

Skupiću sve ciknute riči,

u  mozaik

samo moru znan.

Obećaj mi

igru  pozlaćenu

u granicama svisti.

Znam,

susreti  značajnih oseka

više neće biti isti.

Obećanje ovo u

dvore srca smisti.

I čekaj…

 

FALA

 

Čudesni prikaz

svita relativna

u svrhu susreta

ća sudbon se zove

Subjektivna  pokora

od početka vrimena

ciknuta  misal kreativna

Žeje i potribe

infotane

ironija sna

kad svitla te napuste

a  ti se ne opireš

Razumiš moć  spoznaje

ća šutnjon procvita

ćutiš požudu svemira

Okrunjena jutron

skidaš  veštu od nemira i soli

akoštaš  utiho

jer znaš

da život boli

Nadvisiš pritujena sićanja

svaki jecaj nek val postane

Pa umiriš idra i konope

odsjaj pota  još moru duguješ

mudrošću zbilje rajske

Protrčiš kroz kolure duge

Iz mog kantuna

jopet progledan

pivajući fala ti živote

………………………………..

 

Slavica Cizmic, Split, R Croatia

 

I was born in Split where I live and work. Poetry has been my faithful friend and my liqueur for many years. I have been issued three collections of poetry « From My Canton, » Mirakul « and Collection » Dota « . Many poems have been presented to me in collections. I have appeared in TV and radio shows. I enjoyed reading my verses at various gatherings and thus met countless dear ones. people are such a wonderful creature for you, this is my small part of me.

 

ONLY A STORY

 

She was sitting in a lace dress of solitude. Who knows which time, waiting for the door to knock better tomorrow. Listening to his panicked heartbeat, flipping through his long-ago fate book. A look in the mirror revealed the wrinkled face of an old woman, blurry glances weary of waiting. An unusually ordinary day with no new characters, no strange sounds. Perhaps a shade of gray agony. In those days, her heart spoke in that vicious silence that hurt harder, from physical pain. Walking the double edged of the sword, she thought for a moment that she was loved. She gently tried to tie her dead senses to the rest of her soul with a silk ribbon. Satisfied with the crumbs, not expecting miracles, she crossed the calendar on a daily basis. Knowing that she was sold for nothing this time, that she was betrayed again. It lasted forever in the same issue. Outside, the queen with a grinning smile, an ordinary weak weeping woman in her walls. What wind had blown her years, broken sails and masts. Disabled handshake, an increasingly common misspell when writing a message. She doesn’t even have the will to do that. Lying to herself that she doesn’t care that she’s forgotten. As a provider of wise advice, always ready to give yourself whole. She couldn’t find the bright sight for herself under the burden of black granite. She begged the green dragons to return her torn body parts. She lost all her teachers a long time ago. They are captivated by some happy ghosts, staggering through their drunkenly unhappy lives. Tied up by chains, so heavily present, not wanting to give up their safety. He calls it an open window to talk to the sea, with God, to the only true confession. She is sorry to tire him with his incoherent words, his unrealistic desires with profound analysis. Thousands of rain washed her sacrificial temple, diluted whispering on the wet pillow. There is a growing circle of friends, relatives and acquaintances. And the rest don’t see, they don’t hear the cry. She deserved an Oscar, not for them, for herself. Incredibly confident in her decisions, she sets her priorities and finally loves herself. That ridiculously short lasts until the next blink. He pulls on his curtain, embracing his silence. Here is the mistress of her kingdom, of her curly lashes, of herpes, of cellulite. Another day waiting for Godo, another look at the door, calling for a better tomorrow. It just changes dresses, depending on the amount of cargo it takes that day, depending on the amount of bile that goes up to your throat. Causing contractions of an empty stomach. The only content stirred at these moments is caffeine and nicotine in large percentages. Each one smells like a guilty conscience. Even cheap perfume does not help neutralize the curse. She listens to the sea, laughs at her, laughs, as in a famous song, and again she still immensely jubs it. The whispering whisper stopped her on the stairs on the way to her favorite shelter, and hid too often. Where he hurts, where he forgives, where he forgets. Again, the vicinity of the cold walls is the smell of mold in the nostrils. Spiderweb highly intertwined, untouchable trembles from her sighs. What kind of sun does it need to warm the spasmodic pain, to melt the ice in the veins. Purchased deposits of gray penance. He doubts the bondage of love, the most severe punishment of cynical admiration for heartbreaking films. A burned lunch, a shapeless mass, like her despair, who knows which way she made her put on her dancing shoes, sing a long-forgotten verse, not to sink for some precious handles, to rise for them. Uncertainty in tone. Again entangled in the ropes of questions and answers, she is encouraged by her signposts, by some bright colors. Wake up the woman from a state of numbness become your own again. It is not self-pity, but an open war on the path to redemption. No one cares that you will be listening to a cricket song on a distant pine tree tonight, dreaming of some blue velvety mornings. You have more reason to find in the sand the keys of the golden windmills that gorgeous thread that connects you to the sky from the base of your collapsed temple. Revive your character, don’t pretend

in a statue without shine. Sign your own work contract, rejoice in your body and walk. Do not turn a woman into a shadow while you still hear the voice of a royal messenger watching over you. Accept the holy powers bestowed on moonlight, a visible trace from the clouds that snow with you. Take off the eternal veil of solitude, offer a silver voice to the listener and a beautiful smile to the viewer. Indifference is a danger, only a small step to surrender. Slaves of the past fill their hills and take them to the river of oblivion. Guardians of the faith will preserve every drop worthy of remembrance, worthy of forgiveness. Wake up, honey, for a single touch, a cavalier holster that can kiss you with your sadness in your eyes. Not all the stars covered the dark night, maybe it was you who was born one night.

 

PROMISE

 

Promise

that you will wait for me

it’s where the sky is

an innumerable blue noise.

On the old mist

di resla is the most beautiful word

of our minds.

The duality of different travelers

in the dream port.

Right here,

I’ll wake up.

It scares me a dick

look in the palm of your hand,

seeing tears of fate

for one perfect day.

Promise me the hikes

to school truths,

in the fog of nostalgic hours.

Just so you know,

how many times

behind my skins

thirst inventory done.

I’m getting better at it.

Promise the trip

looks under his eyebrows,

in which the lanterns swirl

forgotten nights.

It’s only up to you,

get to the other shore

to hear how

the truth is.

I’ll collect all the screaming words,

into the mosaic

I just have to know.

Promise me

game gilded

in the limits it whistles.

I know,

meetings of significant people

it will no longer be the same.

Promise this in

cleans the two hearts.

And wait …

 

FALA

 

Wonderful view

suite relative

for the purpose of meeting

fate is called

Subjective penance

from the beginning of time

thought-provoking creative

Thirst and need

infotane

the irony of a dream

when the scrolls leave you

and you do not resist

You understand the power of cognition

the silence blossoms

you feel the lust of the universe

Crowned morning

you take off the skill from rest and salt

if you are quiet

because you know

that life hurts

You overpower the cherished memories

every cry shall become

So you calm the yokes and the ropes

you still owe the glare of the pot

the wisdom of paradise

You run through rainbows

From my canton

viewed again

piling up your lives

 

 

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