Pitiful Me

I wanted to see that sunrise again

Feel Your fingers fiddling with my hair,

The thrill of excitement.

.

I missed the sunrise.

The morning breeze messed my hair.

Nothing comes back.

Under my skin

Nothing new under my skin:
Blood perversely rushes through veins

Every move strains my muscles

Every heartbeat closes Death.

Moja Nirwana

Moment bez myśli-

bez bagażu przeszłości

Szczęśliwe nieistnienie-

nieistnienie w szczęśliwości.

.

Nirvana of Mine

.

A thoughtless moment-

joyful nonexistance

With no past behind me-

laugh at ego persistence.

A Post for Blogging Against Disabilism

Come in handy Handicapped
Show us how to treasure
What we take for granted
Without having a measure
......
For we can walk
and march for war
For we can speak
but tell all lies
......
Handicapped we are
Though having all we need
With no compasion- mentally ill
Looking so fine- rotten underneath

Sweet Dreaming

Again-the dreaming-

And that sweet, sweet feeling

when the dream slips woken mind.

.

And moment of truth

You're gone, no more us-two

And again I'm all alone.

.

A banal cliché

Fatal anyway

I'm killing the dream

Stuck in reality.

K(orozja) O(słupienie) C(ierpienie)

Już
czuję-

znów

zaczynam

spadać.
.
Zsuwam
się w siebie
Głęboko
pod
k
o
c.
.
Choć cieplej
choć wiosna-
tu Chłodniej
Więc szczelniej
pod
koc
całą
noc.

No words ...

There's something quieter than sleep

Within this inner room!

It wears a sprig upon its breast --

And will not tell its name.

.

Some touch it, and some kiss it --

Some chafe its idle hand --

It has a simple gravity

I do not understand!

.

I would not weep if I were they --

How rude in one to sob!

Might scare the quiet fairy

Back to her native wood!

.

While simple-hearted neighbors

Chat of the "Early dead" --

We -- prone to periphrasis

Remark that Birds have fled!

.

(Emily Dickinson)

.

.
Jest coś cichszego niźli sen
W tym środkowym pokoju.
Na piersi ma gałązkę -
Przemilcza imię swoje.
.
Niektórzy dotkną, ucałują,
Rozetrą bezwładne dłonie
Tej siły przyciągania
Nie rozumiem, nie pojmę!
.
Nie mogłabym płakać jak oni -
Szloch może być obrazą!
Spłoszą cichą wróżkę i umknie
Do swych rodzinnych lasów.
.
Gdy prostoduszni sąsiedzi
Gawędzą o "zmarłej przedwcześnie",
My - skorzy do peryfrazy -
Mówimy, że ptaki pierzchły.
.
.
.

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so --

'Tis Living -- hurts us more --

But Dying -- is a different way --

A Kind behind the Door --

.

The Southern Custom -- of the Bird --

That ere the Frosts are due--

Accepts a better Latitude --

We -- are the Birds -- that stay.

.

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors --

For whose reluctant Crumb --

We stipulate -- till pitying Snows

Persuade our Feathers Home.

.

(Emily Dickinson)

.
.
Nie to, że Umieranie boli
Bardziej niż Życie - na pewno
Boli jednak inaczej- to Ból,
Który dzieje się za Drzwiami - na Zewnątrz
.
- To - Obyczaj Popołudniowy - Ptaka,
Który leci ku cieplejszym Rajom
Jeszcze zanim Mróz ściśnie
- gdy my - To te Ptaki, które - zostają
.
-Które drżą pod wrotami Zagrody
I czekają na niechętny Okruch
-Póki Śniegi litościwe - Upierzeniu
-Nie przemówią wreszcie do rozsądku
.
.

My friend's mum died last night.

No words to convey...

Provoking Myself

I dreamt of hugging that made me shiver

I dreamt of sucking that made me blush

I dreamt of licking that made me give her

the whole small prudish world of mine

.

And then I woke up and right beside me

There was she lying stark naked, so pleased

And realised it wasn't just dreaming

And here I go- a totally new Me.

Omen

Dr Drink

heals the moment

And as far as I'm concerned

That's not at all good omen

Drawer Baby

A Drawer Baby sleeps in the drawer

A very little then it must be

And I imagine it's very convenient

To shut the drawer when the cry begins

.

(sadly the story is true)

Wind in my Hair

Wind in my hair

Euphemism today

Can't blame the wind

It's blowing like hell

.

Drops from the sky

Euphemism once more

Can't blame the rain

It wets me to the core.

Talking with Death

rozmowy ze smiercia sa bardzo krzepiace

choc to ona sciska gabke,

ktora chlonela przez miesiace.

gabka wyplakuje siebie wartkim potokiem

by powoli wszystko wchlonac z powrotem

smierc mi powtarza ze gdy uscisniemy rece

przestanie sie nia bawic i zawsze sucha bedzie.

.

by Bordo

.

.

Talking with Death?

Who dares, who cares?

Those who are true,

Honest with themselves.

.

Brave enough to let go

Easily, easily

Shake hands with emptiness

Fall into nothingness.

.

You say: "Death is boring"

I can't agree more

Boring to death

If I may say so

.

It won't change a bit

But that only means

We're running from boredom

Whatever it is.

.

(inspired by Bordo)

Long ago

When the past comes back

And gets sitted right beside You

Then you realise

That it is all behind You

.

And the words he says don't hurt

Though they still make melody

Though the looks can't deceive

No they can't, indeed!

.

And though moment gets me stuck

In- between realities

There's no place for regrets

Only pleasure memories

The Verses from the Bus

The fragility of Fate!

Though Fate seems so grave

That's just an illusion

The mix, the fusion

.

Of impossibility

Of ridiculous

.

The mingle of you and me

Sweet, sour, loving, mean

Exaggeration, duration

Of our small nation

Midnight Melancholy (Breathe)

Breathe

.

Breathe, breathe in the air.

Don't be afraid to care.

Leave but don't leave me.

Look around and choose your own ground.

.

Long you live and high you fly

And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be.

.

Run, rabbit run.

Dig that hole, forget the sun,

And when at last the work is done

Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

.

For long you live and high you fly

But only if you ride the tide

And balanced on the biggest wave

You race towards an early grave.

.

(Waters, Gilmour, Wright)

Novbember Freeze

Location: the seat by the bus window
Time: early evening, heading to the rehersal
Weather: freezing November

First time this year I wear a hat, winter coat and a scarf. The gloves are killing me- it's awkward to hold a pen while going by bus- and sometimes a thought comes to my mind and I NEED to jot it down. Friday evening, when it gets cold, brings peaceful emptiness to the streets. People's breaths blur the air. Looks as if they are breathing in and out their souls.

The bus stops. At the bus stop a young couple tries to embrace each other. There's no way- the stay in a half- cuddle- the coats are too large.

Half- hold, Half- cuddle, Half- life

We're slowing to the rythm of nature.

A short thought comes to my mind.

.

Nature strips

People preen

Then Nature sleeps

And People freeze

Unfortunately...

Miss Fortune had misfortune-

was crashed by wheel of fortune

It was turning far too fast

Be Careful!

It may happen to the best

.

.

(Short note for friends who boast too much :)

Dreamy Invader

You and You

always in my dreams

Real, so real

only when I sleep

Close, too close

makes me feel afraid

That my whisper

will reveal

will betray

that You were here

While drunk...

Drunk in my mind

Physically sober

That is my way

to survive October

.

Soon to come winter

Freezes my cheer

Leaves cover my bed

Need You to warm me Dear

.

I deeply hope

Like nature blooms

That in the spring

I'll also do

.

.

(really while drunk... fall is killing me...)

The Handicapped

Come in handy Handicapped

Show us how to treasure

What we take for granted

Without having a measure

......

For we can walk

and march for war

For we can speak

but tell all lies

......

Handicapped we are

Though having all we need

With no compasion- mentally ill

Looking so fine- rotten underneath

...

...

(inspired by Bordo)