Thought

 

to M. M.

 

Even without a language

I walk that way

marching towards the watery sun

with anger.

It never rains inside of an egg

so

I choose to deny

the sea born

in my rib cage

and go on

being allowed to hope.

chairPhoto: Maria Stadnicka

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Poesis

Let’s sit down this time
on uncomfortable wooden chairs
and listen.
For once, the poet standing in front of you
is loose in the city
with no clothes on.
The circus is over,
the laughter has now replaced
the thick-white silence in which
you hear each other breathing.

Let’s sit and look up
at the stretched rope between cement and glass
and observe the holding hands soldiers
flying into the cracked sun.

I follow them slowly
with measured jumps
thinking that poetry does exist
by itself.

My words leave tiny reflections
on your naked bones and
once I am completely gone,
absorbed by the rarefied air,
each of you will remember only
the dust particles which
used to have my name: noun.

Now they returned to the womb
sharp verb, consequence
of listening
of reflection
of explosion
of language.

I am what none of you can face.
You are all going in different directions
looking to find me
in nothing.

Cubes and Other Lessons (V)

For a while you kept feeding me
ink pots instead of water.
My mouth locked in a bud
could only touch black fruit
and blue.
The language came afterwards
to check my vital signs;
my weak pulse made the world see
I existed at last
in words:
unspoilt spring, not creature, not flower, not cloud.
Stone.
But when you stopped,
I vanished.

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Photo: Maria Butunoi

Cubes and Other Lessons (I)

You take the unspoken word and
Look at it under the magnifying glass
In the dark
You live out all the unnecessary sorrow and beauty
And get to the bone of the language
With very small steps
Learning to walk in poems
Naked stone
And in learning so
The need to talk grows in the broken wood.

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Thought

We feed the orphans with poems
Never to be
Hungry again.
The fire nourished with letters
Never stops burning
Overnight
Our bodies wake up
Warm bricks
Restored to their path.

Each breath locked
Between the heart’s walls
Returns to its silver lung
Once the word released.

Holding Hands

Come with me I know precisely
Which direction to go I said laughing
Face to face with the unspoken word.
Never afraid to fight you,
Never stopped building the new language
Only for us.

I put on my best dress
I killed everyone around
Just for a moment of solitude with you.

Come, I said, but do not look at me,
Like I at you.
The new vocabulary can now describe with easiness
The true detail of this abandoned land
On which we slowly walk through the mud
Holding hands.

And for a while there was an echo.

The word, however, did not reply
The word kept still
And winked at me before
It jumped off the bridge.