Poetryzine magazine presents the selected poems by the Croatian poet Ivan Gacina
Love From the Thirteenth Galaxy
In the bluish constellation,
on the threshold of the triumphal arch of time,
I search for the remnants of the past
among milliards of stars.
The shards of the bygone love
warm the coldness of the universe
through the lunar shadows
and cosmic-milky pathways.
I swing on the time swing
through the light years
looking for your gentle face
hidden behind a hazy canvas
there where atoms and quanta
under the mystical domes,
violating the laws of reflection,
create the cascades of mirror existence.
In the kingdom behind the black holes
my dissolved pains disappear,
flowing through the spiral corridors
into the golden valley of the cosmosmind.
Through the fiery dawn,
like a hunter, I follow the traces of your soul,
collecting my scattered longings,
the shards from the thirteenth galaxy.
Heart Forces of the Daybreak
In a sleepless valley, below the forked moon
we danced the waltz to the rhapsody
across the interstellar leafy moments
painted with kumkuma.
The seeds of wisdom planted in our hearts
awoke the passions
stirring our feelings
while her lips melted into nirvana.
Through the reflections of frozen memories
we broke the unsolvable codes
trapped by threads of the cosmogordian knot
entering the ecstasy of an extincted worldview.
Framed by the raindrops of love,
from the nectar of divine ambrosia
emotions passed by in the fulgent hope
through the focus of cruising visions.
A diamond daybreak from spicy heart forces
is drowned in her eyes
immersing into glossy guides of bliss
across the gap bridged by euphony.
Vivaldi’s Perfect Grammar
I called you through fog,
among imperfect verbs and abstract nouns,
so that you could detaily explain me
the secret grammar of cosmos tantric love.
Traveling along a zig-zag road
that leads to a triangular-shaped jungle
across the river Lethe,
I turned dots and commas in your lap
as I rafted on the waves of self-knowledge and self-awareness
so as not to sink into lost time.
Touring the meanders of raw whites,
I carefully studied the wilderness
between an ellipsis and an exclamation mark
so that I could classify epithets and attributes
mixed with confused punctuation
on a longing glade.
As I thought I could read you like an open book,
you smiled enigmatically
when you lured me, between the fragments,
to a dead end of an (un)completed ballad
(or perhaps an adventure novel).
Using question marks to assemble the cosmic tissue
and rolling the destiny of the interspace
to the Vivaldi's Four Seasons,
the wisdom from unexplored, mirror dictionaries
hovered beyond the invisible quotation marks
connecting the gaps between the ellipses
in the (un)closed curly brace.
Wake up, My Son
Wake up, my son, in this world made of lies, cobweb, and mist;
lies intertwine with people grinding system
from which there is no return,
and whose graves are covered in cobweb and utmost mist.
Your destiny is not to tilt at windmills and colossi,
but who am I to predict the current of future,
I can only adorn your journey through the unknown with my golden verses.
Your destiny is like a multi-end thread,
like the Gordian knot which cannot be untied even by the terrible dragons with their hatred flames
because your love is an unsolvable riddle,
your heart like a free-flying bird,
and your soul as light as a cosmic melody
carried over the Golgotha obstacles by the sparks of life.
Wake up, my son, in the sleepy world,
and carry it on the flying rug of your verses into a better future,
may your daydreaming bring it into the age of knights and princesses, romance and rivalry,
may your thought refresh it in the scent of roses,
and your word strengthen it with power and enthusiasm.
Build the bridges of humanity and friendship out of your love
which we will cross once we save the world from the chains of hatred and wars,
when our verses merge into a universal message of peace and love
that will crown the stars of your innocent dreams
that you dreamed of as a small boy
so that the world can shine again when it awakens from its unfulfilled dreams.
In the Cradle of My Heart
There are unexplored worlds in my heart
which sail in the three-dimensional clockwise direction
while the breeze enchants them with moon dust
which he seized while stirring the ocean of love.
Told and untold stories are also in it,
and we share them when we find ourselves on the same track
and when we tilt at windmills of this illusory life
carried by zillions of celestial fireflies into the future.
As it feeds me with powerful timeless expressions,
it sits on the poetic power pedestal,
and when church bells ring, it shines like the sun
and endows me with magical feelings.
It's loyal to me even when I play with my destiny,
and as I pass through the deep mists of despair and depression,
it comes down to protect my painful Achilles heel
whereby it gathers my memories in a huge chest of empathy.
With the help of branched cosmic forces, it shakes the boat of life
so that I could carelessly pursue my goal on peaceful waves,
and it occasionally sinks through the silence into the mysterious scent of roses
and when rainbow colors wander through my eyes, it absorbs the shades of beauty.
In my heart is Cupid's stray arrow
which teaches me how to fulfill my dreams
and to most easily overcome obstacles in my life
as the river of bliss carries its cradle stories into infinity.
In the Lost Love Jungle
In the street paved with lost love graffiti
I search for your image among giant heart-shaped rose petals
to make my way out of the subway
into whose darkness the false light of three-dimensional advertisements sinks.
A gentle breeze awakens the verses dedicated to you a long time ago
to drive away the sadness taking paper boats into infinity
through the rocking memories the moonlight swings in the cradle of life
while silvering the lost river delta in a blue constellation.
The sprouts of love you planted in the time vortex on a sandy beach
to play as a child with kaleidoscopic crystals
are renewed in my heart cut with razor blades
while the tempting melody of mysterious drums intoxicated me with the scent of supernatural freshness.
In the wine of truth a love steamboat sails chased by haiku verses
rolling across the gingerbread paths of the universe,
and the future trains carry a luggage full of my love letters
so that one day you could read them on the twelfth platform.
While the scent of salt and mixed fruit melts in my soul
I try to unlock the jungle of life with the golden key,
and since our destinies are intertwined with the branched roots of the magical mangrove
love joins us even though we are as distant as unattainable stars.
Our secrets are kept in the ebony and ivory chest.
You will find them when the solar forces start rotating timelessly hands
to help me find you in the purple mist
so that we can start our search for the lost time.
In the Center of the Cosmic Amygdala
At the corner of the unrelieved pain, I arrange puzzles of encrypted riddles
trying to experience ecstasy in a spiritual way through synesthesia
whereby I collect Cupid’s scattered arrows and connect broken hearts
to open the lost portal of the fifth dimension with my poetic pen.
As a lovelorn teenager wakes in me,
the valentining birds lead me through the frondescent nature
where a heart-shaped tree branches out into unusual geometric shapes
so that I could find agape love from the source of genesis through meditation.
The voice of the Holy Spirit blesses me under the iridescent splendor,
while I make the triumphal arch hearts from the infinite energy that pervades me,
comprehending the words of wisdom from the primeval Bible through zillions of quiet voices
mingling with graceful muses' bucolic poetry.
In the center of the cosmic amygdala, I come across a romantic brook
into which a timeless kaleidoscopic rainbow sinks through the forces of love,
and I move through the corridors of delirium tremens connected by lucid dreams
using modus essendi strings that produce euphony.
As I sail through the shards of life between the fifth and sixth rib,
I am greeted by the eruption of paraconscience on my stellar journey
binding eternal verses into ecstatic waves that spread truth and peace,
and quintessence branches out into the logos, ethos and pathos nuances of the harmony of love.
In the Perihelion of Divine Cognitions
I wake up Mother Earth fallen asleep long ago
with magical music composed by the world cultures sounds
and shelter her with an iridescent glow so that she can blossom in love
like innocent Holy Ghost orchids, Peristeria elata.
In order to reach the unreachable stars through the kaleidoscopic rainbow,
a man have to nurture the frondescent nature in its verdant attire,
break the shackles of capitalism through the perihelion of divine cognitions
and return to the classic lifestyle descending the timeless stairs.
If we want to live in harmony of eternal love,
we have to build bridges of friendship by Christ’s requests,
turn off the deadly mechanisms of the shadow leaders
and suppress the cacophony of the universe by praying the rosary.
When we light the Holy Spirit fire in people's hearts,
we will be able to move to the rhythm of cantabile, vivo and allegro,
as our song echoes like zillion ringing bells,
masterful, colossal and united in humanity and empathy.
If we start behaving like hurricanes, we will overpower behemothic windmills
and feed hungry people with cornucopia fruits,
traveling through polar lights, aurora borealis and aurora australis,
so that, as the Legion of Mary, we could plunge the black sun into the abyss.
When we beautify churches, masjids, synagogues and mandirs for the love of God,
and when we put down all curves leveled by euphony on the palanquin of peace,
there will be the union that the hellish forces will never overcome,
and we will sink into the vestibule of paradise through the melody of magical instruments.
In the Vortex of Jasmine Forces
To nullify the effect of Pandora's Box,
from the space and time vortex the pharaoh Cleopatra wakes
a magnificent jasmine spring interwoven with threads of joy,
while the valentining birds untangle the loops of Gordian knot.
While Wordsworth's golden daffodils
and divine jasmines spread the aroma of serenity,
Cupid uses the shards of a magic mirror to make the arrow tips,
and Vishnu drives a carriage with the chest of destiny on it through the labyrinth of love.
While a jasmine wreath in Cleopatra's hair slows the rhythm of life,
the river Lethe carries the sorites and enthymemes of icosahedral petals into infinity,
and the Chelidonian honey winds, blowing along the behemothic pyramids,
swirl the cognitive levels of the universe through the forces of transformation.
While phoenixes revive from jasmine vivid petals (instead from the ashes),
the Holi festival-colored birds deliver around the gifts of cornucopia,
and the star glow spills through the euphonic ringing of tubular bells
transforming the soul of free nature into concentric waves of agape love.
As the wind quarrels with playful butterflies,
the quintessence petals transform into vermilion constellations,
and Cleopatra, bathing the love boat with the scent of jasmine, charms Marc Antony
so that they could fly away into eternity with a blind minstrel's unfinished song.
A Starry Mantle of Love
If I were a cosmic electrician,
I would make a mantle of love from the starry fabric,
enriched with threads of lava (to wake an endless ocean),
and I would sew together the signs of known and unknown letters
blown away by dragons into the empire on the other side of the mountain
to bring harmony between the worlds.
I would add meadow colors to the mixture of the future
so that a bohemian artist can paint the depths of my imagination
on the altar where life and non-life intertwine between flashes,
and I would throw magic dust in the Nile delta
so that a giant tree of the knowledge of good and evil could grow.
Above the love mantle, the glow of a thousand suns would illuminate an optician
reshaping the worldview with endogenous and exogenous forces
while the sky changes its morning attire,
and when the earth rotates around the supernatural graphite-crystal axis,
the mathematician would join the wings of logic
so that the octal ship could guide us through destiny.
If people knew how to manage their dreams,
the love mantles would replace traffic in the heaven and on earth
while cognitions on the other side of the mirror would scatter into everyday life,
and the gardener world use a herbal clock with aurora borealis effects
so that flowers could create pointillistically painted verses,
carried by the emerald butterflies above the silence of the ocean.
I would sow the seeds of wisdom on the hidden mountain glades
to bear unusual and mystical fruit from distant planets,
and I would throw the rest of the starry fabric into the wind of illusion
so that the magnetic poles could rotate in the direction of love,
where the mason concreted the stone hearts of mythical cities.
*Ivan Gacina was born 1981 in Zadar, the Republic of Croatia. He is a recipient of an honorary doctorate in literature in 2020. by The Institute for the Roma Studies of Europe and Researches Regarding the Crimes Against Humanity and International Law. Upon completion of the graduate studies in Business Computing at the University of Dubrovnik in 2010, he received the academic degree of Master in Computer Engineering and the cum laude honor. He is currently a high school teacher of electrical engineering. He writes poetry (including haiku), short stories, aphorisms, and book reviews. He is a member of many associations and societies. His work has been translated into several foreign languages, and he has received more than 200 awards at literary competitions, in his country and abroad. He is the author of three poetry books. His literary work is also included in over 300 collections and in a number of literary journals.
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