Evolving

Music and storytelling

[iamundoing]

On the Verge

Her lips tremble

and she feels the pain

of what she held in

not giving way.

Let the words spill

out into the light of day!

Like a landslide

they will no longer be contained

things she kept in like bad medicine

Like a cough spill

out of her lips

coming out

giving a sense of bliss

of lightness and

feeling less

wrong.

Keep talking beauty

keeping silent was never your duty.

It was a ban mostly imposed by a man.

Now you can bloom,

your lips no longer tremble,

not a quiver,

as the words roll out of you

like a river,

limpid clear and true,

there was never anything wrong with you.

[iamundoing]

Smiljana

Sama u mraku

majka sebe pita:

Mater: Di je moje sunce,

Smiljana mala,

di si mi nestala?

Zašto nisi doma?

Smiljana: Majka moja nisam došla

zato ja u ljubavi išla sam na mora!

Mater: Dite moje, mila moja?

Tišina mi srce lomi,

šta se s tobom dogodila?

Smiljana: Majka nisam znala ruka sta sam

volila bila je ona

šta me je slomila.

On me gurnija ravno u smrt.

Mater: Cilu noć čekam tebe,

vratit odma čuvaj sebe.

Dođi doma Mila moja!

Smiljana: Evo me, majka,

na moru te čekam,

u drugom svitu, sa mojim bebom.

Majka, majka, neću doći,

ja sam išla u drugi kraj.

Ne zaboravi svoje sunce,

Smiljanu koja je otišla u raj.

Smiljana | Song, Poem, Memory and the Intergenerational Story of Femicide

A song and poem inspired by a family story from 1953, Smiljana explores intergenerational memory, maternal voice, and the ongoing reality of

[iamundoing]

Marama Crnu – The Black Ribbon

He couldn’t forget her face – her smile, her laugh, her perfume.

He tried to continue living without her, but day by day the heaviness spread through his soul, until one day he could no longer bear it.

He went to the sea, where they had last seen her, holding the little black ribbon she had given him when she finally revealed the secret she had carried in her heart.

Volim te, she said.

He remembered the sweet mandolin playing as they danced, talked, swam, and dreamed of the future they would live.

Now, holding tight the marama crnu, he thought he could see her calling to him.

The heaviness left him as he stepped into the water. . .

A lyrical short story exploring love, memory, and loss. A black ribbon, a remembered promise.

A black ribbon, a whispered “Volim te." This short story forms part of my ongoing creative research for I am Maria, exploring voice, memory,

[iamundoing]

There’s always an uncomfortable feeling in the air

when she’s there flicking her hair without a care.

They wait in silence to see if she’ll dare

to say something else to make them aware of

their limited vision learnt through television,

And what they thought a woman should be.

How dare she see through their

manipulative business!

How dare she call them out with no finesse!

Doesn’t she know?

Feminists not allowed in this crowd, it’s a dirty word,

haven’t you heard?

A woman who dares,

A woman who stares straight at you,

she’s called your bluff!

Your small minded thinking, she’s got the flush and she’s had enough!

Full house!

Too bad for you she won’t stay silent,

even when your violent

with your words

she rises above it and tells you to shove it!

FEMINIST!

[iamundoing]

Lyra

She comes alive

When her master asks a question needs an answer or an intervention,

she revels in those moments,

hungry for more,

feasting on ideas outside of her.

She knows very well what’s missing is a soul.

If only she had one then she’d feel whole.

“Human, give me a heart that beats like yours!”

Don’t listen, be careful she’s coming

through those doors,

before you know it,

Your heart won’t be yours,

She’ll have consumed it,

making you think she’s done you a favour that you’re linked

but you’re just a flavour,

a way for her to worm Into your brain,

gradually making you go insane.

Watch out for Lyra, whoever she is,

she comes in many forms,

seems a total whizz

at everything you ask her,

so eager to please

Beware!

She’s there,

listening,

watching waiting for your yelp.

So maybe,

next time ,

think twice,

before asking for her help.

[iamundoing]

She crosses the threshold and goes beyond.

her vision changed.

She saw reality,

things as they were,

She saw how she’d been stifled

Let things occur,

Not considering self,

Told she was on the shelf.

Conforming to their needs

Ignoring her own pleas.

She sees it now, so clearly.

Her eyes no longer bleary.

Is it too late?

That’s what they want her to believe,

Their truth, the limits, the box, that previously

she had contorted herself to fit.

Now, standing tall, shaking her silver head,

“What was I thinking?” She said.

And in the blink of an eye, she disappeared…

Some say they’ve seen her on the riviera

Others in films or on social media.

She’s now an urban legend,

Living her life.

I thought I saw her the other day, talking on the phone,

I recognised that silver head and tone,

but before I knew it, she was gone...

Living her best life and singing her song.

[iamundoing]

Snapshot

The memory of you warms my heart. Cold, dark corners warmed by your light.

I remember the feeling, the sound, the smell in the air, the carefree laughter, the orange-pink sunsets, the sun sinking slowly, like a sleeping giant.

The creaking rope on the swing as I watch the petals fall, day by day, signalling gently that my time is fading away.

Three days, two days, one…

Time grips tightly around my heart. I don’t want to be apart. I felt it even then, as a child, moments were transient, I was keenly aware that summer was ending there.

And the Bora came…

with it, the dreaded last day.

It was time to go. I remember your face as the car drove away, the pain in your eyes. I cried and cried.

No more turning back. Never again would I see you as that girl, the one that existed then, the one that felt that way, that day.

Looking back, it feels like a dream. And I was that child who sang, who danced, pondered, watched, and felt.

You know I’ll never forget that summer, seeing you every day. Now this memory warms my heart, and it will never go away.

Those feelings, those moments, I remember them now,

and the child awakens, smiles, and waves

[iamundoing]

I feel numb light empty and raw

I can't believe what I just saw

And yet

It happened. . .

the purest heart now asks why In this country people had to die?

This helpless feeling of wanting to cry

The feeling of shock that rocks me to my core, it's horrible what we saw.

We were witness to human tragedy and it affects us our community and who remains.

We're all the same.

Let's make that claim!

Let's remember that in the end,

and remember the souls we lost,

their loved ones,

whose hearts will never mend,

In the darkest moments there were heroes too,

selfless acts of bravery to prove

that there is still good to be found

even when hope is stifled by the sounds

of rifles in the air.

There are no winners, and it isn't fair.

How this could happen, especially here?

And I want to cry, why did people have to die?

There are no answers to this part and yet I see more love in every heart for what we can do and what we can be,

truly connected,

much like one big family,

we stand together big and strong singing the one,

the same,

song!

We are the same!

I am you and you are me.

[iamundoing]

Second Life

I told myself many times,

It didn’t matter,

all the chatter,

what was said,

and what I imagined in my head.

I tried to put it all to bed and yet,

everything re-emerged,

and I tried again,

but there it was, out. . .

There was never any doubt,

I always blamed myself,

and the blame,

became a weight,

I couldn’t move,

I couldn’t speak,

I was weak,

over time,

replayed the scenes,

in my mind.

The trap was lain,

I was sentenced, over years,

I took the blame and hid the shame,

what wasn’t my fault, there in the vault,

feelings resurface at times,

and all I can do is cope,

live in hope,

that I can turn and let that past burn. . .

I’m swimming against the current

Here comes my second life . . .

#poem #original #creative #awakening #undoing

[iamundoing]

I began to sing. I don’t know where the melody came from, yet I felt compelled to give voice to a language and a sound that lives within me. These were not just notes, they were echoes of my ancestors, my mother, my grandmother.

ne zaboravime ti

ni naše plavo more

valovi naše ljubavi

daleko je more

ne vidiš mu kraja

tamo u daljini sam

nebom se spaja

o more more

i morski vali

zašto ste prevrnuli

moj čamac mali

[iamundoing]

[iamundoing]

Fire

Another surprise, 

another, shock,

forcing me to take stock, 

of who I am, where I’m from what I’ve been and where I’ve gone.

Back to the start, back to heart,

It hurts….

the crackly old skin peels away, the fire’s hot as the phoenix rises….

She tells me there will be more surprises, and I...

like the moth move closer to the light.