To read / 24 January 2024

I am not the house in which you will nest

Poetry


black pine-cones

in the nearby pine-wood
buried pets
and strangled kittens bloom
mute wildflowers

a secret deeply rooted in a change
into the best friend’s belly
like a graveyard cypress tree it overshadowed the city
and turned its streets into humid cellar corridors
stuffy red courtrooms
of acquaintances and friends

the tears are invisible
the pine-cones broken

sowbread

I love you
by letting you
grow in a street encounter
into a spruce
persistently fasting from intimacy

as I shower you with silence and embraces
from the sky’s face
the most fragrant branches are too far away
not a single needle of tenderness has ever fallen
onto the generous delicacy of cheeks
and blossomed
into a smile

I own you
as you undress
under the bark
in a secret hiding place
(so that I cannot see you)
into a sowbread

...

love does not grow in the sky of identical wishes
its azure is deceptive for sprouting and flowering
only wings attached to a gentle spirit
grow into a flight

you will recognise him by his white temper
of mahaleb cherry flowers
in his eyes you will be a dandelion
inseparable from freedom

in the intersection of joined palms
the sky is yours

forest

it is not wise to approach
the darkness within people
there is enough sun for everyone

but there is no other way
to reanimate the warriors with your heart
sad people are stems of spring
trapped in a stunted tree trunk

magic always grows
it will grow
where the wounds are
there is enough
sun
for everyone

the poet

from the Earth’s shell
out of a hobby
she crawls unnoticeably through passers-by
trees
animals and plants
like the Moon through the oceans in its phases

other people’s pensiveness comes
to her on its own will
with her fingers of sea foam she separates pain from thought
until their cheeks
treetops and fur fade out
and pink pebbles of happiness appear

each time her wonder
discovers the constellation of empathy in people
her sweet waters soak the Earth
with embraces

silence

your daily existence
does not lead to my cheeks
the crimson roof frame
which mirrors the morning
frowned and consumed with grudges
you plead diversity
facts
the right to be silent
I am not the house in which you will nest
until the grim cold
leaves your pupils and bones
but you know that on the inside
a gardenia grows

the time on my face does not lie
the walls are a bit cracked
the fat on my cheekbones evaporates inexplicably
still my eyes glow steadily
despite being sensitive to silence and waiting
to injustice
the memories with which I clutter up
empty heated rooms


Translated by Marija Jurlin


Poems are published in the poetry book The language of water by publisher Naklada Jesenski i Turk, Zagreb, 2022.

Author

Andrea Debak

Andrea Debak was born in Split, on the 8th of December in 1984. She writes for children and adults. She is one of the finalists for the literary award ‘Na vrh jezika 2019’ for the best-unpublished poetry manuscript. Soon she will graduate with a master’s degree of Public media; mag. medior. publ.

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