dawid-butryn-neubauer
40/M/North Karelia
Born as Dawid Bunikowski (aka Renas) in 1980 in Starogard Gdański, northern Poland. He debuted with a volume titled IDEA! (1999). As a teenager he was a cultural activist. He studied law in Toruń, central Poland. He lectures in Finland, where he lives.
- Are you saving the planet?
- ...
- Are you saving Ukraine?
- ...
- How do you want to make it if you are not saving myself? Or yourself?
- Yes.
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 5:24 PM UTC
Silence is better than words-swords,
Building is better than destroying,
Love is better than hatred,
A ****** than a ****
You than me,
...
(TBC)
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
Yesterday, I faltered, afraid to go to the church,
Anxiety looming, I didn't want to feel the lurch.
Preferably, at home I sought a moment's calm,
Knowing in my heart, we wouldn't embrace the psalm.
Uncertain of the date, was it the 18th or the 10th?
Contemplating if the mass would even relent,
Though I wagered on the 10th, doubt pervaded my mind,
Convinced it wasn't so, my thoughts unaligned.
Stress unleashed its fury, a sudden attack,
But escape, I realized, was something I'd lack.
Can't flee from our stories, from our history's page,
Imperfect, perhaps, but mine to engage.
Not morally flawless, my life's not a pristine art,
Yet it exists, undeniable, a tale full of heart.
This journey I traverse with actions and thoughts,
Moments, dreams, and emotions, all the plots.
Leaving traces behind, reminiscences so dear,
Love unrestrained, I couldn't always adhere.
Ideas that eluded, thoughts set free to roam,
Perhaps I'll remain as mere particles of loam.
But something endures, beyond what I can perceive,
A legacy untold, what it is, I can't conceive.
Maybe love I couldn't give, yet had in my core,
Or scattered musings left to explore.
Maybe, just maybe, I'm a whisper in time,
With secrets unfathomable, sublime.
Through the tapestry of life, we each have our own thread,
An idea, a notion, within ourselves widespread.
Aug 30, 2023
Aug 30, 2023 at 1:09 PM UTC
In the evening's glow, I turn the page,
Sharing tales of old and knowledge sage,
To children's hearts, my words I lend,
Bible stories and the universe we transcend.
Within the vastness of celestial lights,
Planets, stars, and galaxies take flight,
The world we ponder, unimaginably wide,
And in its enormity, we find our stride.
Yet, why are we here, in this cosmic sea,
Pascal's feeble reed, yet so great are we,
Embarking on a journey of culture and art,
Weaving ethics, life with every beat of our heart.
But alas, the darkness that stains our realm,
Evil deeds and wrongs inflicted overwhelm,
Damage, violence, anger entwined,
A sorrowful truth in this vast design.
This universe, so grand, so vast,
Can bring moments of sadness that last,
And in those times, we question, we ponder,
Does meaning exist? Are we destined to wander?
Is my sense of purpose, my own true flame,
Or simply a creation, an illusion without name,
Faith beckons, whispers truths untold,
In the depths of our being, its roots unfold.
For amidst this expanse, a true faith must lie,
A beacon of wisdom, guiding us high,
For there must be some truth, without a doubt,
A flicker of hope, in this cosmos about.
So, let us seek the answers, with hearts sincere,
Embrace the truths that we hold dear,
For in the tapestry of this intricate whole,
We'll discover the sense, the purpose of our soul.
Aug 30, 2023
Aug 30, 2023 at 1:07 PM UTC
In a world without saving justice, we're herding like donkeys,
Lost in ice-melting fields, where chaos ripples and throngs tease.
Like monkeys with umbrellas, we dance through dry meadows,
Searching for meaning in a realm where it truly never follows.
What if there's no one left, no politics or life's array,
Just a void of senseless existence, where everything's astray?
Like Saul before Damascus, night keeps us from the unknown,
Too hot, too rainy, too ablaze, we hesitate, postponing our own.
But what if all of this is merely an illusion, unreal,
And we find ourselves adrift in a world we can't reveal?
Who are we in this no-man's land of consumers, unclaimed,
Sending love's arrow to a heartless realm, hoping to be named.
Expecting the best, we let it fly, this arrow of love,
Though no guarantee exists below or high above.
For we all eventually perish, disappearing like seasons,
Gone like a drop of rain, merging with endless reasons.
So cherish your life, though limited joys may be perceived,
Hold that arrow higher, and know it's all you need.
Expectations may crumble, but still, there's hope in sight,
For saving justice of love may come in darkest night.
Be patient, like karma returning, weaving its way,
Through years and minutes, silently but sure to sway.
No one knows when, or if, its arrival will be true,
But let's believe in that promise, for it offers hope anew.
In the meantime, humans are like ants, scurrying with speed,
Working hard and dying quickly, fulfilling every need.
So let's hold on to that arrow, keeping faith, come what may,
For the saving justice of love, one day, may light our way.
Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
”Jacob Frank” said to Igue:
We both do not drive.
Both cars and our lives.
We both bite nails.
Both too sensitive.
For us both, kissing, being face to face
And feeling how we take every breath
Are the highest kind of *** possible.
Both fighting for perfection in work,
Both among duties and jobs, and screens,
Both tired and without sleeping enough,
Both writing songs about ****** life.
Both fast and furious at airports,
Both conservative in friendship
And love, and in love, and in love...
Both hidden monarchists.
We have to break the Halakhah,
We have to reject all the Torah,
It is a messianic time!
All the law has disappeared,
Love is coming, there is no law,
Only the law of love, Shahina with
Messiah.
We have to do things
Which are wrong for others
But good so much for us.
Even if condemned,
We’ll be happy, Igue.
Even if, the seagull!...
The seagull knows.
The seagull.
***** knows.
Shahina. She.
Messiah. He.
16-18.2.2023
Feb 18, 2023
Feb 18, 2023 at 1:59 PM UTC
Just promise to give the keys to the gates, but
Not only to Apollinaire. Just be like Jerusalem,
Opening the gate to the king coming. Kind
David is on the way. He is coming to the gate.
You are a holy person, keeping the keys to the gate
Of Jerusalem. Behind this gate, there is the garden,
Where is the apple the king wants to eat, he has
To consume. Fresh juices of life and being.
Before the dawn of Time, you were chosen
By the king and you have already chosen him
As well. You, a person from the Cossacks,
A post-Scythian phenomenon with Talmud roots.
You saw seagulls in the European north in
The front of the Tallinn synagogue, you saw
Seagulls in the European south in the front of
The endless sea, where Columbus started his trip.
You saw the seagull. You are the seagull. The seagull
Is in you. ”Yes, you are going for a seagull”, you said.
”The mystical unity with the seagull of Genoa”, I said.
The most beautiful. The most attractive. The most
Intelligent. The wisest. The most moral. The most
Feeling. The seagull. There is only the seagull, neither
The world nor people. It is a belief in the seagull.
11.2.23
Feb 11, 2023
Feb 11, 2023 at 4:52 PM UTC
God, oh, the Seagull of Tallinn,
Of Genova, of all the places known,
Keep me away
From Eugenia today.
She is so sweet
And wants me to be nice.
But I’m having a headache!!!
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 8:22 PM UTC
Oh, the Princess of Kharkiv, a friend of the Seagull,
Don’t let you have any pangs of conscience!
When the Doctor’s window was shuttered, he chose the oceans
Of sadness to travel... to the crumbles of that sadness.
The world had not recognised him and no Maria Magdalene was offered.
Oh, the friend of the Seagull, do not have any pangs!
You were always there, always on the request, always
To fly in the clouds, to make a step in the clouds...
The first step in the clouds.
The first human in the clouds...
The first.
28.5.22
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 8:20 PM UTC
Try to imagine what to say because
Your field of life was destructed
As you were too bad to live,
Too bad (with an odd face and strange eyes) to look nice.
Try to imagine what to write because
There are mirrors of the unknown,
The thing you have to understand before your death
That all moths must live before their death.
But when your face looks bad and shameful,
We liberally choose the best children
And all the moths must die before their life.
There is not any sense, and life is not a value.
Clapping echoes of reality deduce impossibilities.
Scissors tear many flowers, many shy realities.
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 5:26 PM UTC