VERSEWRIGHTS
  • Welcome
  • All Poets
  • PoetryAloud
  • Inbox Peace
  • The Press
  • Journal Archives

Sejla Srna


Father

Grey stains under eyelashes;
faster than humming birds 
you shake in your sleep, 
clench fists full of nothing,
bite lips lacking kisses,

curl toes, twist guts, gnaw nails.

There’s a crack in the door
from kicks of misplaced anger,
passionate touches from knuckles,

and games of catch with wine bottles.

You throw me resentment,
confusion, repressed memories,
lost childhood friends,
war scars, lust for death,

and a mother selling lies.
​

I forgive you.

Girls

Let’s write about girls
that were pretty
when they stepped out of the shower,
and now its been 8 days
and their hair is messy and dirty,
but not in the pretty-girl-way

Let’s write about girls
who haven’t shaved their legs
since they noticed stretch marks
on their thighs
and realised skirts were not an option

Let’s write about girls
whose guts stick out
if they raise their arms too high,
and their bums are too big
to stay hidden
when they pick up lucky pennies

Let’s write about girls
who can’t be painted
while they’re crying,
or laughing,
or sleeping -
because crooked teeth
and big red noses
aren’t worthy of a frame

When Spring Strikes

When spring strikes
and I am laying half awake
in bed, alone
I will call your name,
I will whistle the melody
of our wedding song,
I will touch my lips,
looking for bite marks
you left so long ago

When spring strikes
it will hit me like a train;
March was when we made first promises -
you sneezed and scoffed
at all the flowers blossoming,
the smell of grass was your worst enemy
now it’s not so scary,
now you sneeze at the smell of 
distance, time, and lost letters

I wait impatiently
to hold your hand again 

Dwarves II

I will endure all heartbreaks you are responsible for,
because you are the person I envisioned
when I decided to let myself breathe.

You are the cliche-boy,
with scruffy hair and skinny arms,
and eyes big enough to replace the moon.

I will never tire of writing of you,
no matter how angry it makes me;
You will forever be my poem,
my book,
my unsent letters,
the words in my fingers,
the epic in my bones.

You are naive, and gullible -
Forever lost in rivers of blue-eyed girls
that think you are their’s.
Forever lost in your mother’s arms,
and your father’s unspoken love.

I found you in a forest,
I found you on a bench
and let you find home in my eyes.
When you pull apart the pillars
I will build it back up with limbless trees,
and keep you safe behind eyelash-curtains.
​
Picture


​Sejla Srna's profile

Sarajevo

I want to run away sometimes, 
not from home but to home. 
Back to cracked roads, and 
unfinished houses -
I want to kiss on the bridge
Franz and Sophia died on.
I want to sneak into cathedrals,
stare into the lights and colors;
envying a God that isn’t mine.
I want to lean on Austro-Hungarian
walls while Egyptian ice cream gives me
brain freeze. 
I want espresso 10 times a day,
crepes at midnight beside
eternal flames, and book stores, 
kissing couples and laughing friends.
I want the passion, 
the love, 
the constant music of the city.
Kept safe by the mountains,
thirst quenched with rivers,
put to sleep only on a Monday -
even then still slightly dancing
to the hum of Sunday’s song.
​

filtered photographs

filling rooms with instruments 
and untouched records,
on-purpose-coffee-stains
and the smell of cigarettes
so when someone walks in
the thought
'oh, an artist!'
may come to mind
but we all know
you spent an hour puffing smoke
into your clothes and bedsheets
developing a strong cough
because you don’t really enjoy
spending your last 5 bucks 
on a pack of Lucky Strikes
aspiring to look creative
never aspiring to create

Terminal

I’ve let my hair grow long, 
so when you meet me at the terminal
you can brush it behind my ear,
as I seduce you with
my see-through blouse
flowing over scraped knees,
lined with fallen, frizzy hairs
that used to tickle you awake.

Wish List

If I could make a list
of all the things
I’ve ever wanted
(since the day I knew
what a list was),
and I knew I’d get it all,
I’d be left with one thing

I’d cross out
my hopes and dreams,
the perfect house
and perfect skin,
immortality and
the ability to do cartwheels;
all I really want 
is you

I’d send the list
to the Gods
and they’d be grateful
for it’s length - 
only your name
on the top and bottom
and scribbled 
all over the page
with clumsy little hearts
surrounding
every corner

I’d write:
P.S. That’s all,
nothing else,
only this for 
eternity.

And I’d send them
all my records,
books, and even hats
to show them 
I really mean it - 
Including a box 
of chocolates
to seal the deal

Comments?

***

​Thank you for visiting Tweetspeak VerseWrights.
© 2012-2018. VerseWrights. All rights reserved.:
Acrostic Poems
Ballad Poems
Catalog Poems
Charlotte Perkins Gilman Poems
Epic Poetry
Fairy Tale Poems
Fishing Poems
Funny Poems
Ghazal Poems
Haiku Poems
John Keats Poems
Love Poems
Math, Science & Technology Poems
Ode Poems
Pantoum Poems
Question Poems
Rondeau Poems
Rose Poems
Sestina Poems
Shakespeare Poems
Ship, Sail & Boat Poems
Sonnet Poems
Tea Poems
Villanelle Poems
William Blake Poems
Work Poems

To translate this page:
  • Welcome
  • All Poets
  • PoetryAloud
  • Inbox Peace
  • The Press
  • Journal Archives