the true identity of the woman in the poem “Struggling for Survival”

for all those who cannot see the beauty behind the depths of archetypes, I, gladly, analyze (in-depth) the archetypes in the poem “Struggle for Survival”. I often revieve comments that my poems are too “deep”, whatever that means.
I find it a pleasure to analyze my poems this way.
for those for whom it’s not too huge, grasp it, enjoy it, fellows!

in 40 minutes I explore the true identity of the woman in the poem Who is she? Who is not… – through the book of Revelation, comparisons of Buddhist female deities, lists of victims of rape in antiquity, and much more.

Feel free to leave the comment.




Striving for Survival Part 2, Unless I escape in time


The Lord said, ‘I have seen my people in bondage, and I have heard their cry,’” “I know their sorrows, and I have come to deliver them from the hand of evil men and lead my people out of that sorrowful place, to a land flowing with milk and honey.” 


I say this in voiceover as they carry me through the woods.

To save myself  from the abusive plight.

Bone-chilling words I would direct at a wealthier yeoman

or a more ambitious female Moses,

who would come as was her duty,

quivering like a leaf,

to bow down to me and ask for my blessing –


to experience a nervous breakdown,

to cast out my humanity when necessary,

to be raped, beaten,

to endure what it cannot be endured,

to survive my evildoers and the whole twisted nazi society

and to become a blooming superhero. 

Mars exulti!

behold the cruel patterns of the past and the future.

do not let the premonitions dry up

to be ready to be picked up

in fear of being forgotten,

while a fluorescent streetlight of Jailer

stare at me with a flaming eye. Aflame in anger.


Due to toxic gases .. public hangings are everyday.

with prayer, as well as participating in pulling a rope, stoning, too ..

Chaotic stoning all day long

paranoically mumbling to myself – The stones, the damn stones…



To wear the wrong dress, to be fertile Unwoman,

 forcing slave to die in poisonous colonies to work  

 until I fall apart, piece by piece of my body

or be sent as concubine from home to home,

to men with  their tail a third part of the stars in heaven

and on my head a garland of twelve stars

to be raped in an obscene, profane ceremonial ritual

we, girls are raped at 14 while forcing us to pray to the Lord 

unreal, maddened eyes sow fear followed by a raging disease and death!


It hurts being clothe with a moon

As that woman about to give birth in front of the dragon

particular misshapen friend

deal a powerful blow,

with a knife in the chest,

and then to devote insane

and grotesque calls

which left me mute a

and in the most horrific of pain


The blade was laid in the carved bone

and the altar, an ancient image of divinity

will speak the tongue of bones tonight.


that.. Being.. Revelation woman..

Her head peeked beyond all countless spirals

painted much in the same manner,

that way putting herself in the center of microcosm

of all-encompassing universality of nature,

becoming a role model for humanity.


My look at the city was one of prison. I

am here – behind bars.

This is a city in the middle of a prison.

Unless I escape in time.

Into the wilderness as is a desolate place

And full of serpents and scorpions,

“travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered”


The forest unbathed by an ocean of blood
An unhealed wound beneath the hot navel
The unpierced rib in the deciding battle
A lonely nest devoid of it’s eagle.


My mortal body with immortal progeny!
I summon the Heavens to bow down to my tentacles
Folded into a clenched fist!


Striving for SURVIVAL, part 1 Thing I do for survival

Along the catacombs
surrounded by whirlwinds of dread
and howls of the killed
and the slaughtered and ready for testing.
– for in the final phase,
some try to resist, an unplanned,
human, nature-provided ability

to shift focus and fear for the bare sense.
The optical ability enhances,
images of merry demons
smiling dance around the iris.

The main phase then ensues,
upon the rapid degradation
of potential to maintain one’s own


I and in this struggle, the eyes expand,
bulging in fear,
staring at the monster,
the shifted human form
which has the same countenance,

but shaded and bloodied with lack of feelings,
whose disgusting, dry mouth open and
utter the Kafkian judgment


This is where the compilation comes
of several entities
pretending to be friends, godsisters and neighbours
in one singular entity,
hostile, radically evil with malicious intent and death in mind –
that I struggle to survive…


and the following sudden departure of a loving being
comes in, a being that uttered a judgment
out of nowhere,
using the nature-given freedom of MAN to think,
to use a flaw in its mind map,
each to his own moral metrics and laws of fidelity,
I struggle to survive

the universal reality consisted of
no more than a handful of cigarette buds
and other than rage at the impotent God
who punishes the good and awards the weak,
something that cannot be known,
but merely believed,
It was soft, hiding spot
I struggle to survive


The ship of illusions that the friendship was possible.
I owed moments of erotic bliss.
Whenever entering my head, with roots, the wind,
the breath of tropical sun,
I struggle to survive my friends, godsisters and neighbors

in one singular entity,
hostile, radically evil with malicious intent and death in mind.
to go in pairs and be bound to a pack,
somewhere out there, on the edge of the lost world,
its monstrosity, but also its shininess,
none will notice it gone or even as having existed,
the light and shadow play will merge with vile contours of envy,
doubt and shame,
A haze, a wave in my thoughts,

a vortex where they wallow

in whirlpools and abysses of the deeps
I struggle to survive


A vision of a lunatic,
a nightmare with a hundred thousand deaths.
Obsession with fear.
An attack of the innocents,
a finger of fantasy pointed at them, listed names.
I struggle to survive

a battle not to disembark the ship of illusions
And when they stick a knife in your back,
everything moans in bliss.

The cowardly lack of will of the people
to stand up against the dictatorship of the benefactor
and peddled at their flaws – I am trying to survive!


To barely get by
a mass of people, conventional shoulder-patting,
well-intentioned advice from good people

Soft, muddy picture,
then the image comes into focus
and a zoom-in of someone’s eyes.
Then the eyes spoke with fiery passion
and that would last for ten seconds
or so on a movie screen.


From the upper corner an unseen ghostly hand
recording what is happening in the writing on the wall

holds a great feast and drinks from the vessels

that had been looted in the destruction of the First Temple. ..

The terrified Belshazzar calls for his wise men,

but they are unable to read the writing.

It says: I struggle to survive.
Everyone who ever hated me,
eating sandwiches and sowing leather jackets
that I pay on a loan,
then all of the things in leather, I cannot even recall all of it.


They filled my suitcase, set aside my things

in it as if they were laying
my corpse in a sarcophagus .
Who are these people?
How come there are so many good intentions in this…

They must have been practising their skills for centuries in…


All those precious things I do to survive.

Endlessly burnishing wildflowers


Endlessly burnishing wildflowers

Forgotten by splattered times of bloodless slaughterer’s


Waking ones lulled carrion of sleeps myriads

Forced to godforsakenly steal endlessly robbed visions til deaths hibernating above all else

Effectively cut short dreams frightfully harden the nights frightfully seem as long as the night lasts

Frenzied paced yelling, finally put lighting in its willingly placed awakening mortality silenced scream

Immortalized storms forming
under the bitten tongue,

Secretively shadowing its sensed shade
From hiding you from under the knife

Green eyes
brown eyes
I did not have the privilege to choose
Knighted enemies eyes

Alone like Kings of the Night

Gleamed like white foot soldiers

Woefully heroic scream of blue lightning pride’s flashes
Feverishly quickening beasts

Move towards sickening its growl

Shrieking his disappointment firmly pitted against his

Bows in accordance of the journey’s will to end.

As those witnessed in deathly silence

Perched like birds of pray on the hilltop will remain still
In the sound of dragon.

There is no realm of pure meaning – Not today!
My God, dead, but yet alive
Death in itself and Words above the world
– a burning droplet, an angry hollow
and a cry of fear.

The Birth of a monster, Hail Hydra!

I woke up with surplus five heads. I was running down a Žička street, hoping that a kind soul finds us, some Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley sort, to sew us back up into a whole.
For a time, I was sneaking around in the shadows, facing ridicule, disgust, and dread.
No particular way to go, I was heading to the mountain Avala. Somewhere along the way, I got lost, exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst.
A lot of heads to feed!
Well, that lasted.. there re-arose an outstanding feud between heads; they say they have headaches, they cannot sleep, they raised their voices and wept some more.
The latest effort to speak the same language ended in failure, therefore, turning to the macabre practice of survival cannibalism absolutely was the key to our ultimate continual existence of the organism.
And the only survivor became the only suspect, the soft tissue monster head, bull shaped with serrated teeth, a pincer-like mouth, however, no one could clearly define its mysterious monstrosity.
A spineless reborn blood-drinking creature, whose name eludes me, was charged with four murders on August 24, 1776, defending itself in court, without a solicitor, that it has been acting in a manner befitting a sensible head, against her unhappy, yet brutal, and violent companions.
The acquittal based on self-defense was decided by a simple majority.