Map of love / Mapa ljubavi / Carte d’amour

“Where is my end, your beginning, our coordinates on the map of love?”

Time in the falling
                       dawns on
the map’s margins
swallows the seashores
of our past.
Each day 

unfolds in a familiar
          place
reopens, re-enters
       the seafront, landscape we’ve
             created.
I gather your emotional 

               seashells, fragile
shields of protection,
    I hold them, don’t feel the pain
in my hands –
            razor sharp ends, 

shell-daggers in the heart.
My traces in the
                        sand,
              perfect
 circles, yours,

meandering lines of exit –
the ambivalence of
                      the emotion
         we call love.

The distance between us
  is not measured
           in miles or kilometres,
              instead it is written 

  in the presence (or absence)
           of feeling,
           line of your longitude,

                      line of my latitude,
                           coordinates

 on this map of love. 

/

“Gdje je moj kraj, tvoj početak, naše koordinate na mapi ljubavi?”

Vrijeme u padanju
                          zora
na rubovima mape
guta obale
naše prošlosti.
Svaki dan

otvara se u poznatom
             mjestu,
rastvara, razdvaja
      morsku obalu, pejzaž kojeg smo
                  stvorili.
Skupljam tvoje 

školjke-emocije, krhke
zaštitne oklope,
        držim ih, ne osjećam bol
u šakama –
završetci oštri poput britvice,

školjke-ubodi u srcu.
Moji tragovi u
                       pijesku,
            savršeni
krugovi, tvoji

tragovi, krivudave crte izlaza –
ambivalencija
                 osjećaja
     kojeg nazivamo ljubav.

Udaljenost među nama
   ne mjeri se
       miljama, kilometrima,
           ona je sažeta u 

prisutnosti (ili odsutnosti)
             emocije,
             u liniji tvoje duljine

                   u liniji moje širine,
                       koordinatama

na ovoj mapi ljubavi.

/

“Où est ma fin, ton début, nos coordonnées sur la carte d’amour?”

Le temps en chute
des aubes
sur les marges de la carte
avale les rivages
de notre passé.
Chaque jour

se déploie dans un endroit
              familier
rouvre, pénètre le front maritime,
paysage que nous avons
créé.
Je rassemble 

tes coquillages-émotions,
           boucliers fragiles,
je les tiens, pointes de rasoir,
              je ne ressens aucune douleur
dans mes mains – 

coquillages-couteaux
dans mon cœur.
Mes traces dans
le sable,
cercles parfaits,

tes traces, lignes de sortie
en méandre –
l’ambivalence de l’émotion
que nous
           appelons l’amour.

La distance entre nous
n’est pas mesurée
           en miles ou en kilomètres,
elle s’inscrit dans

la présence (ou l’absence)
d’émotions,
ligne de ta longitude,

ligne de ma latitude,
nos coordonnées

sur cette carte de l’amour.

©Jasmina Bolfek-Radovani Mina Ray 2018

Featured image: Saul Leiter

Chained, R.

As deep down as possible. He buried his emotions diving into it as deeply as. Into the deep sea. Taking every new day, every new night in. Clouds. The passage of time. Breathing in, breathing out. Diving in again, making his feelings for her his own, burying them deep down below the earth’s darkest layers this time. Below the sea. Remain strong. He must remain strong. Untouchable. Wounds, deep. Scars, invisible. ‘It’s alright. If I don’t think about her, my feelings will go away. She will become a faded memory’. A lie, he tries to convince himself of. But, he knows, dreams of it. Sweats. In repetition. Every day, she is transformed a little more into a lingering ghost in his subconscious. A spectre. Moving below his level of consciousness, she has transmuted into an unattainable ideal. A symbol of the feminine archetype for him. Not knowing this, he walks around without seeing, trapped in the veils of his own blindness. His heart, chained to her. He can’t shake it, shake her off. So, he pushes it further down. Deeper. Deep down as possible. To the earth’s core.

Enlight198

photo: Ryan Muirhead.

.

Saudade

Like
the vine
that misses
the strength
of its roots,
its grapes
maturing
slowly
under
the sun,

the sailing
ship
that awaits the
wind,
before speeding
towards
an unknown
destination,
not yet
discovered,

the sound
that completes
the silent image,
moving
particules
of air, sonic
waves,
creating
meaning,

the diacritic
sign
that needs its
place
over the letters
s, z, or
c,
to cross over
to the position
above the
line,

Closing
the circle
of life,

He        misses her