"Youth"

We are the wild youth chasing visions of our futures. One day we will reveal  the truth that one will die before he gets there

Hope of life

A little boy who had closed his innocent eyes just before the shining sun said loudly goodbye, looked through his little window which was like a painting of Mount Olympus for the last time. He saved in his mind the unique view of his little planet and took it with him for the longest journey of his life. He became a traveller,who left an always green land with a stream reflecting the blue sky , to find the only magical path that could take him to the happiness.

Now,after centuries of walking alone, he is standing in the middle of an empty desert and with his dying heart, he is dropping crying his last tears.

He was a brave traveller who believed he could find happiness. Now, he is a flying angel.

January and his memories.....

This place has not changed since you were standing there for the last time. The same bench, the same moon and almost identically cold wintry wind precisely whispering to you in the secret language that can only by understood by you; you are standing' once again in the place where a few years ago, your enthusiastic mind was full of hope and beautiful dreams. Momentarily, you looked at the shining stars and realized how foolish you were for keep dreaming so many nights. Now, you don't have these dreams nor the beautiful hope which kept you coming to this place.

This place isn't really the same - it has lost your soul....

Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?

Maybe one day....

A few minutes of impatience, waiting at a cold and windy station where the sun’s warm rays barely could reach my eyes. Only now can I feel it, a whisper of my beating heart that tells me it’s only a few minutes left before the train arrives and I see her again. To see again, the woman to whom my heart has been beating continually since I saw her beauty for the first time. It’s been many years of hope and countless dreams where, in a different world, we walked together through a meadow full of flowers.

After a few minutes.... a train arrives and hundreds of strangers flock through the opened doors. Among them, I finally see the unique, smiling face. She is here! We are here! This isn’t just a dream! Now, walking together side by side, we talk to each other in a real human language  and look at the medieval buildings that surround us. An old medieval square, still full of Christmas spirit, and two of us.

When the day had started, saying goodbye to let the heavenly, beautiful night take guard of all of us, deep inside my heart I started feeling like a person who was touched by an angel and suddenly I felt her hand touching mine. The sky was already full of stars. The moon, little street lamps, and a singing woman in the front of the old church, made the moment feel like my most wanted dream. Everything was precisely like a romantic poem written by God himself, who suddenly decided to show his existence and create this moment just for me, or maybe for both of us?!

I didn’t want to go sleep, as I knew that the next morning would be the last moment that we were going to spend together. I touched her hand, and stroked her hair while she was slowly awaking.  I gazed into her eyes like a paralyzed man that is unable to move. My soul was amazed by the special charm that only she has.

Time became my biggest enemy, running like an animal that cannot be stopped or slowed down by any human or its wildest prey .Our last walk where, for a moment, I softly touched her velvet-like hand. She will never find out how many tears of happiness were falling, not from my eyes but, from my heart.

Suddenly, we are standing at the same cold train station, where we must say goodbye and walk away into separate directions. I want to say so many words, adore her ‘til the last moment but, Hades has decided to ruin everything and take my happiness away from me.

The train has left, and now I’m standing right beside the God of the underworld who made me feel like my heart has been killed once again. I will wait for you, even though I must wait once again long 5 years.

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. 

W oddali

Późnym popołudniem, a wczesnym wieczorem pojawiła się w mych dłoniach kreda i papier jakże biały. Była muzyka dobiegająca z oddali i świat pejzaży w mej głowie pełnej magii.
Rysowałem kolorowe kreski i zacienia  zachodzącego juz słońca. Był ten wyjątkowy uśmiech na mej twarzy i jakby swoboda życia w mych pełno barwnych od kredy końcówkach dłoni .
Wszystko było takie inne, takie chyba jak dawnej gdzie przy otwartym oknie spoglądałem na księżyc przy ciepło jesiennych wieczorach. Zadałem sobie w tedy pytanie - Czyżby pojawił się kolejny sen, czy może  nowe życie z innej planety ?

Długo nie rozmyślałem nad tym – cieszyłem się życiem. Byłem przez chwilę małym chłopcem biegnącym beztrosko przez pełne kwitnących  maków łąki . Cudownie było- tak nawet przez chwilę!

Gdy po pewnym czasie powróciłem już do normalnego życia, do zwykłych ludzkich codzienności, usłyszałem ponownie tą samą melodie. W tym samym momencie , pomyślałem także o Tobie. Tak, właśnie o Tobie!. Uśmiechnąłem się w Twym kierunku wiedząc, że nic w zamian nie dostanę. Siedziałem na mym błękicie pod którym nocami śnie o ogrodzie i zawsze pachnącej wiosną jabłoni. Siedząc, cały czas myślałem o wiadomości. Chciałem wysłać kilka słów i uśmiech w nich ukryty. Napisać o morzu i odbijającym się w nim słońcu, tak naprawdę chciałem napisać cokolwiek. Lecz jednak wiedziałem, ze nie mogę, że ta wiadomość choć dojdzie, to za pewne nigdy nie powróci do mnie - jest już inaczej

Melodia zaczęła się oddalać powolnym krokiem i ja wraz z nią powoli odchodziłem

Jednak prawie już na sam koniec, zamknąłem swe oczy i dotknąłem Cię delikatnie swoimi myślami...

Culture is the arts elevated to a set of beliefs.

Under your feet you can hear the rustle of gentle falling autumn leaves. Slowly walking with your head full of thoughts, you are passing the bench that seems to be so lonely in the world, changing the colour of the leaves.

You stopped not only your vision, but also your steps to care, to serene this place for a moment. You sat down as a dignified man with a gentle smile on his face. Time had become like a stranger and not prompted you that it’s time to move on/ you sit and ruminate about what is going on around- why the bench is so lonely when this place is so beautiful?

When thoughts become as enchanted as a movie without end, suddenly you hear the rustle of leaves from the distance.

Yes, there is a character, like never been known to you before, she smiles for a moment, and then as if she wanted to be serious, you want to say something but you cannot.

You offer your hand to give a piece of paper with few words in it. In her hands you leave a message of a complete delight. You wrote the word, and that word is transformed into a sentence. You just can’t finish bay saying goodbye- you need to add words of praise.

Now you are waiting for an answer for even one sentence. You have been wondering when and if It will be a romantic or maybe short but meaningful letter.

After hours, days there is a letter and the sentence. It is a beautiful joy in your heart and greater desire. So you are writing another one with a bigger hope that the next letter she might send to you will have a small oz of her gorgeous smile.

You are waiting for another one when at the same time your mind creates sentence that you want to convey to a lady who has written to you from the distance and as if she sitting on another bench.