Песни од Деа Балкански

THE SWAN AND I

Wine-stained carpet and ink-dappled skin,

One story ends, another begins.

It is only in complete darkness, that we value candlelight,

It is only madmen and poets, that are awake this time of night.

This pen thanks you, for each carefully placed bruise,

To speak not in metaphors, what’s a poet without a muse?

A sigh for the end, after many cof ee rings on a desk,

She bows her head exuding elegance, statuesque.

I can’t help but smirk as we nod to each other’s intricacy,

We shake hands goodbye but are bonded infinitely.

We leave you in peace, for now,

Sincerely, the Swan and I.

THE DREAMER

Always the writer, never the muse,

Never the hunter, always the bruised.

Exploring the caves full of untouched crystals,

I am the rock outside you use to lean on.

Always the try-hard, never the natural,

Worthy of a glance, always ephemeral.

She is the lake that swans gather in,

I am the swamp you cross to get to it.

Always the wishful, never the wish,

Belonging to the in-between, never the first or last kiss.

Never did I surpass good enough, forever existing below that line,

I am yesterday’s news, she’s aging like fine wine.

Never the peace, never the right way,

Never the first choice, always the stray.

Never the fastest, never the slowest,

Never the impressing poem, never even the impressing poet.

Always the muf led cry, never the dazzling smile,

Always the curious case, never the unsealed file,

Always the sacrifice, the hero that gets killed of,

Always the dreamer, never the dreamed of.

WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

Have I become a book in your attic collecting dust,

Or a ballad you skip but listen to last?

Have I become a matter of the subject you tend to avoid,

Because I’m still a reminder of everything you destroyed?

Have I become a crack in the glass you can’t throw away,

Or the smoke that you can’t put out in the ashtray?

Have I become a picture-perfect poem that lacks melody,

Or am I the reason you’re still in therapy?

Have I become a broken watch stuck past in time,

Everything changes yet I still can’t call you mine.

Have I become a name in your memory you can’t recall,

Tell me, define me, what have I become?