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Best Poems Written by Tamara Simic

Below are the all-time best Tamara Simic poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

A Being In the Age of Consumerism

I'm constantly searching for myself –
That part which is essential, inherent.
I sense its presence, it's somewhere within
The being which echoes with infrequent shouts
Of a neglected foreigner 
Who happens to live in my dwelling.
But it's a language I can't comprehend;
Only some fragments, and on rare occasions
When we're at peace, like adults
With altruistic motives.

I'm persistent in my search
So persistent that I tend to go outside
In hope of finding 
The object of my pursuit.
But I'm offered a wide selection of objects
Each resembling that which I desperately seek.
I consume, yet I'm the one who's consumed,
Drained slowly, gradually
Until the essence is left to evaporate
As if its only purpose is to be absorbed
Into bountiful void.

I stuff myself with pleasures
Until I dissolve in them,
Become the object of my desire.
Then the insight and rejection.
Continuation of the search
Of the lost one.

But it is different with you, my beloved.
You contain that spark
Which will revive me.
You can fill the gap,
Complete the circle.
Only a little more;
I know I will find it.
This is what I need,
Is it not?

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Inertia

Inertia makes a monster of my
Self
I'm insatiable for making a 
Progress.
Move, don't just tell yourself
You will.
Set the rules, then transgress.
The rebel inside of you deserves
Respect.

You're what you eat, don't
Lick
Your wounds, turn up the heat
By a caress. Love the self-contained
Monster you possess.
Let it off its leash and you'll feel
How it surges in your breast.

It's no place for old men
There is no case without offence
Commitment without intense
Embrace
Is a senile pretence.
To feign 
Amusement  shows lack of respect
For your own self.
Be a rebel, even an iron fist in a velvet
Glove is more wanted
Than just a silly old brat.

Awareness of the 
Inertia makes a monster of my Self
If it didn't I would be suffocating
In a senile caress of my soul's 
Protest.
Life transmutes the mind into
A  monster  who fights against mind's
Recess.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

You Should

''You should try to love yourself more.''
Those words reverberate inside of me
As I rearange my thoughts and assort them
But spend much time
Discarding the pile
That doesn't belong to any category.
It's an excess
And wants to force its way in.
It likes a mess
When everything is out of order.

But what is it that is likely to pervert
The seemingly spotless mind?
Only that which possesses the potential
Can be deformed.
Illusion is the word.
Or rather, hallucination.
When it's allowed to settle in
As an equal category
It is perceived to be meaningful,
To be reality.

''You should try to love yourself more.
In my case, I've at least managed to understand myself.''
Is it really that simple?
I guess, in the end...
After a prolonged deconstruction...
Everything reduces to that –
Simply understanding yourself.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

The Smile of Future

That smile on your face,
That excitement
In your steps.. I feel it
I see you...
You seem so far away
In time, in another mind 
(But still mine).
You're different, yet you can
Still recognize me-
My smile, my excitement
That are not real.
You're more real, although
There is no you without me.
I'm fading while you're
Drifting away.
I wouldn't come back 
If I were you, but I need you
To stay in my dreams 
So that in the long nights
I can remember your smile
And excitement; your future
That  is brighter than my morning.
I don't know you yet, I love you
I hate you why do you leave every time 
I try to dance with you. I'm not ready yet.
Your once fragile laughter is now filled with 
Almost tangible satisfaction and obvious 
Happiness of the future you. I'm your
Past, you're my future, but why 
Can't we be our own present
Where we can dance freely
And it's never too late
Nor too early?
When you decide it's time
To become real, it will be
Possible and you
Will be closer to me
And I won't 
Let you leave.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Secluded Life

Wrapped in somnolent skin
Deprived
Of any sensation whatsoever.
Dispassionate,
Insensible.
Vacant eyes dissolved in smudges
Of weariness.
And behind, deep inside – a secluded life.

It should be careless.
True, it is indifferent to
Material world,
External disturbances,
Even to its own 
Body – as if the body is a foster child
Molested by the malcontent
Father
Neglected by the mother who's tired
Of it all.

But inside, deep inside there is
Its preoccupation with itself.
It feels the external
But doesn't feel
As a part.
Inside life is lived
Truths are revealed.
It breeds, it grows, it protects, it nourishes itself.
It loves.

Secluded – because able to be constructed
And expanded on its own.
AND because it is in its nature
To be secluded.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Frozen In Time

As history unravels in front of my eyes,
hurling truths through an intermediary,
I try to see the picture clearly. The seer 
had seen the turbid future long before
it came to a dead end. Who am I then 

to try to amend   the ancient rules?
 „My child“, she says,  „It started 
long before you could even imagine
to be part of it“. But now 
I'm on the edge of that world –

Different time, same place... And I 
see her face, washed-out, the bridge,
the urge to drown the fears. And mine, 
which is floating In her tears.
different person, same fate.

„For you“, says the distant voice, 
„It isn't late“. But how can I ever forget
that image, frozen in time. Burried in mind.
Her face, the bridge, fears floating in the air.
Her hands pulling me towards the past,
telling me not to fight.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Snow

Off-white is my color
On this time of the day
When darkness swallows me
And I illuminate 
Through Its gossamer skin. 
As soon as my purity 
Slumps
Onto the ground,
It falls off - but not by my fault:
Children love to slide down my back
And the sad ones
Hate to feel my cold presence. 
But I bring the warmness although I seem
Cold. After they've had  my first embrace and
 Soft touch on the cheek, 
They've had enough of me.
On this time of the night
They want to get rid of me.
Then I become even colder
And leave with the promise
That I will be back and this time
 It will be in a smooth and moony night
Followed by a cold and tiresome morning 
Oblivious of benighted dreams coming true. 
Revelation of my purity. Your ephemeral merriment. 
You're cold again as i slide down your neck.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Catch Me If You Can

I'm playing detective
Trying to keep track of 
The truth that becomes even more
Elusive as I go further.
Into the depths of a psyche
Of a psychopath who's lost his way.
It is so easy to lose him
When you're in the desert, 
Thinking that your eyes and legs
Are fast enough. 
You're unprepared for this job,
Even though you still have the persistent belief.
But he knows, he can feel it
When you lose your way because
That's when he's free.
And you're the one who's chased after.
Neither of you can find a way out
Of the vast desert, you're sweating
In panic, and your thoughts have become
The blaze that you fight over.
Even if you win, you lose, and the mere thought of it
Hurts. But, the belief. It's still there.
The question is who's cold enough
To handle it. You or him, your psychopath.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Time and Mind

Time passes by as I'm walking

Through my mind, at a slow pace

Cleansing my space of the remains of the  day.


Can memories fade away

Completely disappearing in time

Leaving you with a spotless mind of a child?


Another day in the same state

Of mind, should I embrace

The time that defines the place where I stay?


I'm releasing my future days

From the grip of impatience of a child

Leaving it to this steady mindless time.

Details | Tamara Simic Poem

Words and Void

I'm trying to write about something specific for a change.
''I'm bored,  and suffocating in a desert
Of dull yearnings that gulp down my stale breath
Full of futile words.''

No. I'm drowning again in absurdity and saying
Nothing. I need something
Specific. Meaningful.
''I'm trying to create meaning on the paper,
Crumpling sheet after sheet, the lost words
Mourning for irretrievable primary 
Sensation which once urged me to continue
Writing, rather than crush the pencil that so many times left
No trace at all save for the void forming the words -
			Long since gone...''

I start afresh, this time without superfluous evocations.
Nothing. Makes. Sense.			It doesn't have to.
The present. Is. Dark.			There will be a better tomorrow.
Not sure. If I'll be. 			You know you will.
I'm alone. With my words.		You'll always be.

Words don't make sense when thoughts wait for their permission.
Can I think about something specific for a change?
There are not enough words.
They disappear. When you think. About yourself.