Marijo majko
kraljice naša
utjeha si i nada
želimo da budeš
u našim životima sada.

Molimo te Marijo
danju i noću
ti nas blagoslovi
od svih loših stvari
nas oslobodi.

Potrebna si nama
istina je kad kažem
svijetlo si u životu našem.

Za tebe sveta Marijo
pišem najljepšu pjesmu
zahvalni smo ti na svemu.

Znam sveta majko
ti ćeš svakom čovjeku
blagoslov dati
radost veselje
sreću ljubav
da nas cijeli
život prati.

Hvala do neba
o ti Marijo sveta mati.

Stjepan Orlić

Jedini Čoveče od Svemira,
Zahvaljujem Višoj Sili za to što je stvorila tebe, Čoveka, od milijardu svemirskih čestica i poslala te meni, Ženi, željnoj istraživanja misterija iz Svemira.
Zahvalna sam joj i za to što postoji Vreme, Vladar Sveta, dimenzija, nepovratno neprekidan redosled nastajanja i nestajanja i sled događaja, zbir nevremenskih trenutaka ili možda iluzija, jer je upravo Vreme doprinelo našoj veličanstvenoj fuziji.
Zahvaljujem joj i za to što mi je podarila čula; čulo vida, da vidim svaki delić tvog bića; sluh, da čujem svaku reč koju izustiš, bila to glupost ili nešto što ima smisla; čulo mirisa, da osećam tvoj miris do kraja života na Zemlji, a i onog koji sledi posle tog, čulo ukusa, da, sa na hiljade svojih mikroskopskih ćelija na jeziku, uživam u tvom umamiju i čulo dodira, da osetim tvoje prste, usne i dah na svom telu.
Takođe joj zahvaljujem i za osećanja, jer bez njih ne bi bilo ni nas; za radost, sreću, uzbuđenje, ljubomoru, požudu, strast, ljubav, brigu, strah, tugu, bes, gnev, čak i gađenje, jer sam sve to doživela i preživela sa tobom.
Verujem da su ljudi sačinjeni od zvezdane prašine, ali ti, Čoveče od Svemira, ti si Supernova.
Volim te, beskonačno i izvan toga.
////////////////
The only Man of the Universe,
I thank the Higher Power that created you, Man, of one billion cosmic particles and sent you to me, Woman, eager to explore the mysteries of the universe.
I am grateful to her for having there Time, the ruler of the world, dimension, an irreversibly uninterrupted sequence of emergence and disappearance and the sequence of events, the sum of the timeless moments or perhaps the illusions, because it is precisely Time that contributed to our magnificent fusion.
And I thank her for giving me the senses; the sense of sight, to see every part of your being; hearing, to hear every word you utter, no matter if it’s stupid or something that makes sense; sense of smell, to feel your scent till the end of life on Earth, and the one that follows after that; the sense of taste, that with thousands of microscopic cells on my tongue enjoy your umami and the sense of touch, to feel your fingers, lips and breath on his body.
Also thank her for the feelings, because without them there wouldn’t be us either; for joy, happiness, excitement, jealousy, lust, passion, love, concern, fear, sadness, anger, anger, even disgust, because I experienced it all and survived to you.
I believe that humans are made of stardust, but you, Man of the Universe, you are Supernova.
I love you, infinitely and beyond.

VIZHDAM VI. . .
( I SEE YOU. . . )

( Poem for Onelia )

"Did you know. . ?"
says ALICE

". . .that Lacie is a
an anagram of me!"

She follows me
through Sofia's streets

as my camera clicks
"curiouser and curiouser"

taking pictures
of reflections

the passing world
stopped and stilled

in windows
mirroring reality

back to itself

marrying one
to the other.

"Krasiv!"
whispers the street
to its other image.

"Yes. . .yes!"
I hear myself

answer her
as she falls

out of my pocket
( the wind reading her )

its unseen hands
riffling through her pages.


ALICE as real
to me as I am myself

. . . friend of my childhood.


"And in predictive text. . ."
I offer my fictional friend

"I change ***
becoming. . ."

"Enid or Ethel or
one or the other."

Like a door mouse
in a teapot

my mobile goes to sleep.


Like a grin
without a cat

her laughter
lingers.


This road's yellow
bricks escort me to

an OZ
of words

where an alphabet
dances in Cyrillic

its strange shapes
delighting my eyes

teasing me
with its sense

of real
Unreality.

I catch
a ray of sunshine

stealing into church

saying the little prayer
of itself.


Icons emerge
from the dark

as I walk
through the passing

. . .of ages.

One icon looks
like Berbatov

on his transfer
to Manchester United.

"Krasiv!"
whispers a leaf

. . .in its falling.

"Krasiv!"
whistles the little bird

enjoying a steam bath
in the hot springs

. . .behind the Mosque.

Saint Sofia
guides us

through her streets
we look to her

for our
bearings


knowing where we are
when we find her

standing in the sky

stopping to let a cloud
pass by.

"Krasiv!"
Sveta Sofia blesses us


"Krasiv!"

In the park
a man in a hat & a Mac

chases people
for chess

offering his pieces
as if they were a gift

inviting Time to stop
& play.

And when passers by
pass by

he invites himself
to play an invisible "him."

His unseen self seen
pondering its next move.


The timer releasing
the world

back to itself
where naked

statues shiver
in the park

throw snowballs
at each other

when a human
isn't looking.

A toddler
( as yet unsure )

of all this
"walking business"

tastes
each cautious step

as if
sipping soup

too hot

sip ( sip )
step ( step ).

The park is
melting

revealing itself
as it thaws...thaws

ice & snow
releasing its stranglehold

slinking slyly
away.

Outside the theater
snow has been swept up

into neat
pyramids

as if they were an Art
installation.

I listen entranced
to my friend's voice

a woman made only
of words & thoughts

( paper & E-mails )

now made real
by the beauty of her self.

"Krasiv!"
whispers her smile

to the secret
that she is.


"DA! DA! DA!"
chortles a yellow & black

tram as it "Yes! Yes! Yes's!"
around the bend.

Back at the hotel
my ALICE sleeps

dreaming of when
I will read her.

A book on a bed
in an empty room

chatting to a shaft
of Bulgarian sunshine.


And always
ALICE is

. . .asking:

"Do you know
what tomorrow is. . ?"

And I say "Yes. . .yes. . .yes!
to everything!"

"Tomorrow is all
I can imagine it

to be
&
more!"

Sofia sheds now
her clothes of snow

strips down
to her sunlight

& dances. . .dances.

"Krasiv!"
"Krasiv!"

her dancing translates
finally the word

"Krasiv
is. . .
beautiful!"

And it is
. . .it is!.



*

Reading and re-reading ALICE IN WONDERLAND  as I threaded through Sofia's streets drawing its sights through the eye of my mind and stitching it together as the words took pictures and like a patchwork quilt sewed it into the heart's lining. Knowing now( as if I hadn't already known before )that friendship is a KRASIV thing.