Proud to be Bosnian
| Author:
Minela Ela Hadzic Poet and writer, England UK currently published on HubPages! I was born in Bosnia 1983 in a small northern town. In 94' I came to live in the UK as a refugee due to the 'Genocide in Bosnia' ...I was 7 and a half years old when the ' war' began. However, I am ever so grateful to have come to the UK to rebuild my life like many other of my fellow bosnians. I believe as a nation we are SURVIVORS not just for surviving the 'war' but many other factors too. |
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Depressing air moved around the clear oxygen bubbles of a dark room.
She glared, eyes blurred,shaken soon the suicidal nerve would be in for
her.
**She didn't like to be this way ; She shut her eyes and dreamed back**
Back to when only the sun could dry her tears, rarely. A voice on the
other end of the line to keep it real, but eventually kill her.
**She didn't like to be this way; She shut her eyes and dreamed back**
Back to the freezing day that rippled through her trembling body - the
day she left, with only her heart warm in her frozen body.
**She didin't like to be this way; She shut her eyes and dreamed back**
Back to the ''cocoon'' with thousands of other ''cocoons'' visible. The
air was not pure enough to breathe in, she was chosen, and broken. Born
warm into this cold new world.
**She didn't like to be this way; She shut her eyes and dreamed back**
Back to the time each day smiled back at the sun and life had meaning, a
heart of joy, safe and innocent of cruelty, back to the smile that lit
the world up at night , and in the arms of those who love.
**She liked to be this way; She dreamed hard to stay there**
Whilst you sleep deep in my veins, my soul is playing games, I don't love you..
Your hand in my palm, manly but warm, increasing the flutter in my stomach; I don't love you.
Your soft breathing is hushing the silence of your room, a cold night,
I'm still warm from the last time you touched me; Its boiling up the
anger inside me, as your making me lie when I DO love you...
So say goodbye, leave me a sign. Leave your footprints in the snow,
leave a raindrop on my lips, touch me through the air with your
fingertips, but leave a sign.
On a road of no signs in the yellow nights, surrended to the lights we
once followed you'll know I won't be coming back. With the fireworks
blazing in November, nights of fire and the first snowflakes that alert
you of winter, you'll know I wont be coming back.
................Through your window you'll see a star * and feel me, but
I wont be coming back, you'll surrender to a new hope and a new day and
you'll remember am just like you feeling the emptiness elsewhere.
Through a day of a lit cigarette I part with your footprints, my eyes
frozen on the leaves on my path through shivering breezes in my veins I
see a faraway sunrise, and remember how I yearn your smile, as desert
does the rain.
I return the smile back to the sky, so my cigarette light brightens the
stars through the day that leaves three words at the tip of the tongue,
unspoken truly.
..........Forever stays in me, a stranger, like a souvenir of all dates;
Missed, last and half full trains. Its not nostalgic yet a shame that
someone hold my heart in the palm of their hand, in a town I was cold
where I needed to grow old.
The home that died on a window, the voices of friends last heard, an
empty suitcase calling like a bad habit onto a journey, unknown.
I part with your footprints, emptiness inside, knowing that the dreams
of departing towards the north are just dreams. A faraway sunshine call
upon my departure towards the cold north where once i felt the warmest.
Maybe its in his cold fingers why I love the surface and why I'm dreaming
the real, the untold is in the season, each one tells all, and when all
becomes over----- then over is a start.
Minela Ela Hadzic / Leptirela