METAMORPHOSIS
Oh, beautiful eyes
follow me everywhere
Like butterflies in springtime
Dance above my head
tangle in my hair
fizzle 'round my ear
sparkle 'fore my eye
Tease me with your colours
childish and disturbing
Your scent so exotic
wanna taste you in my mouth
Don't know where you came from
but I know you're here to stay
You descended just for me
little wings shall take me away
Little while longer
can this foreplay last
We both know that soon
the spell has to be cast
You gather around me
like sharks around blood
My knees betray me
I fall down in the mud
Swirl around my back
tight around my neck
Nest in my crane
eat away my brain
Never leave my side
this'll be one hell of a ride
Throbbing and thrilling
such a unique feeling
I'm enjoying this delightful dread
never wanted to die lying on a bed
Your teeth amuse me
oh please abuse me
Unleash me from my silky chain
witness my panic and pain
Split my lungs in two
I need to feel the torture and maul
See the deep, dark, bottom
of my unclean sinner's soul
Sweet insanity
Sweetness follows
as we become one
The moth, the butterfly and me
The axe, the roots and the tree
Treat me cruel, love me tender
One last breath and I surrender
The truth is out, it doesn't matter
In the wind I'll have it scattered
All my beauty is depleted
The metamorphosis has been completed
******
This poem was spontaneously created
during a sleepless night on 27-28 February 2007,
and originally posted as a comment
on Olivera's MySpace site.
She insisted I post it in my blog as well.
My inspiration, or should I say - provocation,
was in fact a picture of a picture hanging in her room.
To see it, follow the link:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=145263541&albumID=0&imageID=2840372
The author of the original picture is
the Macedonian artist Miroslav Masin.
The mentioned artwork can be found at his official site: http://www.masin.com.mk/photos/PaintingsCycleTransformations/htm/12.htm
Strangely enough, I named the poem "Metamorphosis"
before I found out that Masin's cycle is called "Transformations".
And I must say one more thing:
It was the smaller size of the pic on my friend's site,
and the lack of details that enticed my imagination,
I'm not sure this poem would look this way
if I had seen the original picture first.
Ironic, isn't it? The less is given to us, the more we create