There is no light in my glance
nor silence in my intimacy.

The hours scream
from the silent clocks
of infallible digits
that enslave the days
and prolong the nights
of open eyes.

And I can not
unleash my rage
because I’m surrounded
of unwanted witnesses.

The muffled howl
in my dry throat
stays knotted
in my desolate soul
with many others
that never escaped
from my mouth.

There are tears that burn.
There are tears that heal.
Mine hurt
as if they were nails
tearing my cheeks.

I hid them,
but my love saw them
and by made them his,
turned them into fresh water
that it rained torrents
until it drowned
my bitterness.

Text: © Olga Brajnović

Photo: © Marek Studzinski at Unsplash