on my grave

on your grave i send roses
clever, folded pages of a book,
with ancient gilded lines, writing
itself seconds after your death
ruined the days of your happiness.
happiness of mine,
it was defined by mysteries,
wonders of the moment that came
cruelly inconsiderately,
on my grave i brought those
those which I claim to be yours
so blind you are?
fingers surrounding all of
where your mind seem to linger
i, in vain, exert a call,
to nourish once more,
many aspects of you
those physical mostly.
not ashamed, not a drop,
a grain, a refrain,
of a flashy elegy only
pervades.

flowers pinned down to their petals
uncovering the world
within them, them flowers
seizing winter, fresh, cold

wintering the sour faces
of dignity, humility, like a disorder
paying those in human paces
which not let the northern

light to rise, arise

ako vločka páperová vločka snehová
sklamem ťa opať tým, že dosiahnuť
ma nemožeš svojím dotykom
ma zmatieš, spletieš, popletieš
do očí mi vietor prinesieš
možem ti odmietnuť keď nemám
zbrane?
túlať sa možme spolu, bez seba,
vytvoríme kvet bez tŕňov
svet bez trápenia
poďme sa spolu milovať nesebecky
v myšlienkach hriechy spytovať
o láske nepochybovať
dáš mi zvolenie?

vstúpila som do rozprávky
pomaly, isto, s brázdami v očiach
očiach kníh majúcich strany
a tých strán ktorých sa stráním
či sa bojím či sa tým káram
svoje krídla zvláštne prepletám
ako by som zabudla že lietať
viem, ved to je odveta
bohov bohucich na meno
moje, znejuce trepanim
kridel pristrihnutych
hlavou nehlavou
vrham sa strmhlav

spring has grown with
thousands of forgotten kisses
i slowly watched
those who a human seems to miss
when walking by, wondering

spring has come
announcing its birth
offering petals, and eggs,
and magic and mirth,
i am
discovering

spring has walked
into our days lost,
and reflections, and blankets,
and beauties banned
i am looking into a mirror
forgetting my own steps
that led me to it

toward the end of an lonesome street
where salient cover multiply
THEMSELVES
supposed to seek to squint to meet
the corners missed by a breath
parabolically moisting a pretty lie
IT ITSELF
slowly, among its ragged edges
morosely,withing the agreed period
wisely, reciting a prudent ode
defencefully, housing hedges
SPREADS over in a wry
MISTAKE

ranný mrázik mi kriví tvár,
nie to ty mi ju krivíš,
a ja v údolí mojich myšlienok,
márne sa hľadám,
Keď ty sa len divíš,
skús obuť veľkosť mojich topánok,
vedieť čím ja zem zemúcu zametám.

Ranný mrázik, odpusť,
že ja pre svetlo sveta,
nevidím samú seba,
niežto teba.

***

I wake up this morning with poetry
with green book covering many faces
faces undergone many phases
of green-glass mottos and colonies
of sad, long forlorn memories
when life was a ballad only
cruel, mournful, lonely
it plagued the unplaguable

we wonder of its clarinets
playing music without melodies
discarded somewhere within the histories
of us, lonely birds, loving
the essential, careful steps
toward immortality glowing
its shades onto the clefts
of opening for many decades


we lost the holy wilderness
in the bouquet of the earnest
it burns my skeleton
just to think about it

You , oh classic, stay praying
within the rhymes of my prayer
grown the thorns of the grayer
liturgy penetrating me
without permission without joy
constantly

bez-radná

tvár ako úroda jablone mladej
tak sa s úctou, s rešpektom pozerám
čumím, civím, a bránim sa bremenám
že ona je naveky nemenná
drevená?

nespatrí nikdy svetlo mojej duše
dušej malej, oknom do sveta,
aká svetlosť jej, a tá obeta,
do jame levovej ma zavlieka

keď oči svetlo sveta spatriť nevedia
v tej noci, zamatom pretkanej
márne hľadám môjho človeka
keď vlastná duša nezlomne ma zamieta

Epoch of woman

The last two centuries have been certainly dedicated to the dynamics of woman´s role in the world, in the world of world of man. It seems that woman haa always has a peculiar, sometimes indefinable role.
The behavior recognized predominantly as female at the beggining of 20th century (and reaching far beyond that)has transformed from the inability-to-express-any-opinion-stricken housewife, to a range of distinct acceptable behaviors in the end of the 20th century.
We have a woman, emancipated, erudite walking on the street with I-do-not-care-how-should-I-look-like image on one hand, with image of a woman concerned with her beauty, fully convinced that the role of the woman in the world is to 1, either be admired by a man , or 2, to be relentlessly admired by man.
The pedestal of the most significant concepts in woman´s world have changed in a tremenodous way. The endeavor to have a certain role, more distinct, more independent from the male perceptions. However, this always has been/is/will be an interaction of the two self-influencing counterparts, female and male, both reacting to a reaction of the other one.
I adhere to the idea of a woman to be still judged by the appearance, and beauty concept.
I list "procedures" that SHOULD be executed by woman, the activities expected from her (in comparison with a list of male ones)
Woman : Shaving (different parts of body), hair dying, or regular haircuts, make-up, manicure and pedicure (nail painting), wearing jewelleries, highheels (ough),...
Man: shaving - (and it´s voluntary).
Of course, the female activities are voluntary, or voluntarily decided upon, however, still expected into cetrain extend. I defy some of them, disdain with the greatest disdain of world disdain collection.
Hereby, by reviewing the concept of a woman I propose to "rethink" how emancipate women are, and how much their emancipation is ingrained (as anything else) in the societal pressure,in the way society imposes a very stringent dimension of respectable sets of not just behaviors, but more underneath- the range of accapted appearance. I admire women that are inside they own world, their independence, their unconnectedness to the pressure. And I am trying to swim in that independence as much as possible, so once I will learn it completely, without safety vest and manly help, and instructions.