Big Miniature

Poem By Dejan Stojanovic

To transform a grimace into a sound
Sounds impossible, yet it is possible
To transform a vision into music,
To go outside an enslaved personality,
To become impersonal by transforming
Into sand, into water, into light,
To feel the air and breathe the air
By becoming the air, become
A bird, the first cell, the first man,
Become a wandering comet,
A dying star, a newborn cluster of stars
And hear the melody of galaxies,
Love making of black stars,
Sense the hellish or heavenly nature of quasars,
Be in everything and come back
To a miniscule particle of personality
To find out how great all is.

Comments about Big Miniature

Congrats! Your poem deserved this honor.
May be from a planet where someone who is made of Sulphur instead of Carbon, may be that one breathing out Sulphur Dioxide instead of Carbon Dioxide, and the plants consuming Sulphur Dioxide and giving Oxygen in return. She must be sexy gal of mustard color. May be poisonous for me, still I love to love her.
Electromagnetic waves don't need a medium for propagation. Sound and vision both can be transformed in electromagnetis waves and may be sent to the vacant space. Waves never die, may be one day we listen to the melody of another galaxy.
This poem reminds me that we can never be contented with a limited, fixed perspective. We want to situate ourselves in a cosmic totality, so we mobilize all the resources of thought and imagination. This is our birthright but also our burden as conscious beings: we cannot resist entering the systole and diastole of the cosmic heartbeat.
'To transform a grimace into a sound Sounds impossible, yet it is possible To transform a vision into music' - Loved these beginning lines, which have been dwelt upon more in details, subsequently.

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Other poems of STOJANOVIC

Dancing Of Sounds

There is a moonlight note
In the Moonlight Sonata;
There is a thunder note
In an angry sky.

A New Friend

Tell me something less significant,
Something about our biology, for instance,
About what you hear while sitting under the tree,
About lonely lions in the prairies;

Being Late

From where do simplicity and ease
In the movement of heavenly bodies derive?
It is precision.
Sun is never late to rise upon the Earth,

A Man And The Sea

Our world hides in the hospitable sea,
Murmurs tirelessly the forgotten song,
Tells the same story in a same way,
Listens to itself, indifferent to you,

Bright Moments

There can be no forced inspiration,
But there can be mergers with the world

There can be a flowing of feelings