following my own steps

I have been trying to find my secret world again. I was loitering in a life without beating hard for too long.

Still deep in my heart

It has been several months since I sent to you my last letter. This period was as always, full of surprises. Good and bad ones.

Life has become even more unpredictable and future so much unknown. In that time, no matter what, struggles or challenges I have had to faces, you always appeared in my kindest thoughts and memories.

I had desire to send you this letter many days, weeks or even months before. Especially when I was visiting my little home town. After my trip that I took to me peaceful and heavenly green woodland, I wanted to share my emotions with you. I wanted to send you an immaculate painting of what I saw during my trip in my human words.  However, I had and still have a feeling that a lack of any response from you for my very last letter is a sign that you don’t want to see my words anymore.

Despite of these feelings, I have decided to write to you again. Just to ask you if everything is fine and how do you feel?

You are the person who will always stay deep in my heart and my thoughts. Even though you already erased me from your heart, please send me only one sentence that it says about your warm smile that appears on your face

You will always be in my thoughts

Still beating heart...

The poetic workshop turned into a land of broken thoughts and one useless mind. Everything inside looks like a room with kids playing and loudly shouting around. Your pen, a half written piece of paper had gone before you have realized it’s time to safe your little world. 

Almost nothing survived.

Has your hand stopped writing forever?

No, through the ashes there is a sign, your mind is still alive.

The only thing that keeps the poet thinking is the spark of morning shining star

Maggio

With this post, everything is going to be a little bit different. The new chapter appears in my book.The melody so connected with every written word. Every night in late summer nights will be always in my heart.

Thank you Ludovico for showing me a path to my secret life. 

 

Oasis of solitude

My little window turned into a magical door that took my eyes to a different world. The Piano song with the bird’s voice creates an unforgettable concert for my dying senses.A musical concert with the heavenly pleasure, but at the same time deep inside the Arabian dry desert wind, goes through my soul and turns the life-giving leaves into almost burning ashes! Is there any hope for the drying heart, for the lonely camel in the middle Yemeni wilderness? 

It is time to close the little window and put the blue pillow underneath my already half dreaming head.

.....

Wyczekujesz tego jedynego listu, tego jedynego zdania z odpowiedzią. Cóż tego ze każdego dnia z wielka nadzieje sprawdzasz czy te słowa zostały do Ciebie napisane. Za każdym razem pustka i bolesne omdlenie. Osamotniony tak jakby na bezludnej wyspie oczekujesz wiadomości która rozbudzi jeszcze bardziej to tęskniące pragnienie

....

You felt like an animal wounded in both legs.

Supposedly you walked so proudly through your twisted path by a strange life. However, you collapsed and laid down in complete stagnation.  You wanted to raise your hand, but could not do it.  Only your eyes were looking ahead and in the pure silence, begging for mercy appearing on the azure the winged reflections.

You were like the God dreamer, but have become a worthless thinker.

You recall in your mind only times spent close to the river with the wind and the unique glare that appears only in the silent night. There are still in your head this green bench and the glade painted in the colours of rainbow’s flakes.

Maybe one day you will run ahead and you will find the green bench again?

Broken wings

Poczułeś się jak postrzelone zwierze w nogę. Niby szedłeś tak dumnie przez swą zakręconą życiem drogę, a jednak padłeś tak nagle i leżałeś w bezruchu. Chciałeś podnieść rękę a nie mogłeś. Jedynie oczy spoglądały przed siebie i w milczeniu błagały o litość pojawiających się na błękicie ptaków skrzydlate odbicie.

Byłeś marzycielem, a stałeś się bezwartościowym myślicielem. 

Wspominasz już tylko chwilę spędzone nad rzeką w towarzystwie wiatru i pojawiającego się tylko nocą tego jedynego blasku. Jest jeszcze w Twej głowie ta zielona ławka i polana pomalowana jakby  w kolorach tęczowych płatków.

Może jeszcze kiedyś pobiegniesz przed siebie i usiądziesz na swej zielonej lecz calkiem nowej ławce.

Love generation

Through words in this letter and warm thoughts I would like to wish you calm and sunny days this Easter.

This emptiness that filled the distance between two of us, sometimes scares me. From one hand side I want to make the little light in the dark tunnel to appear but I don't know how.

Despite I am not talking to you, it does not mean I am not thinking of you, that I am not coming back in my memories to warm spring days that were also warm for both of us

Life is like a speeding locomotive that I wish to stop one day on the small train station in the middle of the green forest. Stop the train and fall in love within the silence around. 

Start the conversation with the same moon that accompanied me every night in my garden while I was talking to you. But this is unreachable at least for now.

A few days ago I heard the same song that quite often I had been listening, writing all letters to you in late May nights. Memories, thoughts and longing came back for the unique state of mind. Not to mentioned the evening walks in Southern France.

An Island...

I have been engrossed in reading words from a person well known to me.

She also resides on an Island, but obviously smaller.

The island isn’t cloudy and linguistically diverse like mine. But it is like a volcano with a burning fire and spurting hot water into the blue sky.

Through her words I look at her life, on a day to day basis in the country where she still has to wait till the sun finally comes.

Can I walk into her world by crossing the bridge built from her words? Surely this is inappropriate! Or maybe I am wrong?

By reading – I imagine.

 Imagination builds a new world. A new world - a new place to live.

Recently like a new star somewhere in our Cosmos I was born again in a different place.

Merely because of her written sentences.

I’m a traveller – lovely feeling.

no name

Came back home this afternoon tired like never before. Even a fucked up hare’s guts by a hungry wolves pack, look a hundred times nicer than my face, obviously. Had a warm shower to wake my body up, but even warm drops worked against my alien nature.  Not to mention I almost mixed up the toothpaste with the Armani shower gel made in the Greatest Kingdom of Uzbekistan!I smell so good – check me out!

I managed to get to my bed without breaking my old bones and yes I’m lying down with the ugly smile on my face. Somewhere from the background I can hear a French music. Hypothetically it is a French music, my brain can’t understand the words from the strange written text in a foreign language. Well every language seems to be so foreign to me now. 

Can’t even finish the column. No petrol in the tank. My mind that it used to be like a new Mercedes, has turned into a Nissan Micra without MOT! 

Goodnight all

My way

The world has become strange and unpredictable. The kindest rustle of the night's moon turned into the dreadful sound of a marching orchestra in a parade of dead zone. The early morning sun glimmers which was giving to a pure dew on the green leaves in the Zeus garden - colours of life, became the hot stove burning your sinless skin. You are like a little boy who runs through streets with eyes closed. A boy who just wants to run past the bench with minors attracted into an illusionistic world that has been created by one cheap injection. A shattered glass bottle of wine after a drunken debate last night.

Where is the world of singing larks and blushing violets on a spring meadow?

I run on! 

Motivation

I mentioned on Friday to my friends that the upcoming weekend will definitely bring the fresher and clearer nights for a silent writer like me.

First and second day had gone quicker than I thought. Saturday morning somewhere about 8:00 o’clock, my eyes said hello to the unexpectedly silly and noisy alarm clock. My only though I can share with you here is or maybe was “ Why me? “  Why the hell, is the pillow so comfortable underneath my lazy and full of rubbish head? – Never mind

 I threw my clock somewhere deep into the Universe of my messy room and the noise has finally gone. Yep it’s gone but not for a while. Bloody birds suddenly decided to start a concert just behind my blurred window. Who told them that it is time to start your journey from the Black continent and move towards to England? Don’t you see, it is still cold and cold and sometimes cold again? Please fly away and let me carry on sleeping in my warm nest. I am like the eagle during his retirement time with only few feathers and dirty claws.

So Saturday was like the day with a lemon tea on the sunny beach. Nothing happened! Do you understand it? Nothing, not even one single move forward! What a waste of time.

I have had a thought to be a normally creative person and write more than 30 or 32 sentences but it seems to be a very low level of motivation inside of me. Eventually I lost most of my magic power during the contemplating about who I should become during my dreams tonight.

 I’m going to be a zebra. Yes zebra and the hungry hyenas herd, Ta-da I am the wizard of my own dreams.

Goodnight folks and see you in my secret world. Please watch your back, I can be a newborn eagle again.