Before I die,
I'd want to leave the dead womb
and see the Light,
and feel Its warmth.

Before I die,
I'd like to know how it is
to be alive
for a day or even an hour.

Before I die
I'd want to be born
and feel the life blooming inside me
like a flower.

Who knows everything? No, not me.
I am just a shadow of a tree.
I am just a feather on the wind.
I am just a pebble on a beach.

Who knows all the answers? No, not me.
I am but a fleeting memory.
I am nothing more than just a dream.
Juat a drop of water in the sea.

Who knows why we're here? No, not me.
I'm the last to know, the last to ask.  
I am just a word stuck in a mouth.
I am just a silence of the  grass.

Sunday morning.
A fragrant storm  
in a coffee cup.

I am the best thing
that ever happened to

me.

Sadly not, I won't be here tomorrow,
I'll be somewhere else, someone else.
though I'm not talking about different life,
and I'm not talking about same old death.

I am talking about time that is timeless.
I am talking about placeless place.
About some kind of Hell-free Heaven,
some kind of greener grass Universe.

I'm not talking about having a choice,
or some signs of hope that'd be showing,
but about clocks like broken toys,
and maps like some nursery drawings.

I am packing my stuff - it's not easy:
been unpacking things my whole life.
Feels like turning the course of dry river,
or the blood painted hands of  time.

**** the happiness, **** the sorrow,
no more heartful and dreadful a-roving.
Blind man's shadow - my guide I will follow.
Only future me knows where I'm going.

Not my favourite,
but the only subject
I am still reviewing
since I left school.
Long time ago.
Yesterday.

Have you forgiven them yet?

The moon,
for it gives you out no secrets.

The stars,
for their beauty
which often hurts your eyes.

The sun,
for it never dies, unlike us.

The dead,
for their silent smile.

Have you forgiven them yet?
I ask

myself.

Skyscrapers look at them from above,
the man-made devils and the man-served Gods.

Dots in the streets - they have turned into ants,
they will not know that they've lived or died.

Skyscrapers shelter their deepest fears,
their human feelings, erased, strangled, killed.

They make *** only to get rid of lust.
They don't think of the future, they don't know the past.

This big city mess - their holy mass.
The ants will vanished, skyscrapers will last.

You said: Wow, I think you are poet.
But I don't think,
I already know it.

You asked: Does it mean
that you date a lot of women
and smoke a lot of dope?
I said: Nope.

You kept asking:
So what does it mean!?

It means I write love letters
to my heroine.

I wrote few poems about life,
and the rest of them were about death.
I always tried to look on the bright side,
but every time it felt like a theft.
Every day I was left sad and bereft.

I wrote few poems about happiness,
most of them were about sadness though.
I always wanted to be joyful more less,
but every time I tried, the joy told me No.
And the sadness never let me let her go.

So I stopped writing, I thought Well, okay,
if it can make me happy again,
I will throw pen and paper away.
And I did, but it doubled the pain.
Since then I lived a life of a dead man.

Go away, Misery,
don't make me feel so blue.
I was lost, so I've let you in.
It was nice not knowing you.

Go away, find someone else,
there are billions of people. Why me?
For I was the only one who opened the door?
Oh, to Hell with you, Misery!

I don't need friends anymore.
Leave me alone, Misery, please!
I got rid of the ones I had had,
for one day they turned enemies.

Go away, Misery,
don't make me feel so blue.

It is too late now, you are already in.
It was really nice not knowing you.

The quietness of this morning:
I am happy - at last.
They wonder if Heaven exists,
I have the proof that it does.

Undisturbed by the neighbours,
their children and their cars.
Silent, angel-like halo
of the sky-growing sun.

Maybe I'm only dreaming,
maybe I'm still in the sleep
and  I'll wake up to screaming
of angry man in the street.

So let me enjoy this moment,
even if it's just a dream.
Today I'm not going to church,
the church has just come to me.

This moment will be gone,
before I blink my eyes.
I'll take this moment with me
to  the grave, the paradise.

I'll cherish it like my baby,
I'll sing it like a song.
And you can call me crazy,
I'll stand by it proud and strong.

Oh, ditching it in the past
much easier would be, no?
But I will make it last,
I will not let it go!

This moment, one of a kind,
it'll never happen again.
Against the odds of time,
timeless it will remain.

The sky is blue,
the days are black.
No, it's not a song.
It's life.

The grass is greener
on the other side.
No, it's not just a saying.
It's a fact.

One day we'll die,
no matter what.
No, it's not a mourning.
It's hope.

Have you ever made a cup of tea on a lazy afternoon,
sipping it and getting lighter almost like an air balloon?
Have your cold hand ever searched for another hand like for a glove?
Have you ever needed a shelter? Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever cried when Spring came and touched a death man's face,
and he opened his dead eyes, and the flowers grew from them?
Have you ever seen a seagull circling skies the sea above?
Have you ever watched a sunset? Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever crossed a river, knowing there is no return
to the places you have graced with your doubtful confidence?
Have you ever found the answer, when the steel push came to shove?
Have you ever thought you were nothing? Have you ever been in love?

Is there something you remember that keeps you awake at night?
Who is to blame for these tears? Maybe you just care  too much?
Is there someone you are missing, even if they are with you?
Oh, I know this awful feeling. I am missing someone too.

Falling,
falling has never been easier
than now.

Falling,
falling has never been more pleasing
than in this very moment of time.

Leaving
everything and everyone behind.
Getting rid of
this heavy burden of eyes.

The waves
crashing into rocks, I will let them die.

Falling,
falling has never been easier
than  now.

Rain, rain, rain and more rain,
my prayers were all in vain.
Maybe gods drink too much wine,
which then turns into water,
and then we curse the wet weather.
Some kind of anti-miracle.
It will never get hotter.

In a mirror, we always look older
and we believe that it lies.
We blame it for every wrinkle:
Okay then, you lie, but why?!

How rude of mirror to do so,
like literally in the face!?
We give it so much attention
and what in return? Disgrace!

Or perhaps we do look older
indeed, and it doesn't lie.
Perhaps we lie to ourselves
and maybe we know well why.

This life feels like a prison,
but everything happens for a reason,
at least that is what they say.
All I can do is swallow my pride
and obey.

Until the guard will come to me one day,
and shout: Hey, you! You've done your time!
And now we have to take you away!
Okay?!

Okay.

I have tried to quit writing
many times,
but I couldn't.
Even if I could,
I wouldn't.

I have been writing
since I was twelve.
Asking me to stop
is like asking me
to **** myself.

Rivers run,
and I let them take me with them
to the ocean. 

 Poets write,
and I follow their thoughts,
for they know the way out of the darkness.

Flowers bloom,
and I sigh along, escaping for a second
 the cold hands of death.

The stars shine; they offer their light as a warm shelter
for my frightened eyes. 

Painters paint, and my invisible hands are holding 
an invisible chisel.
Only the colours can tell our
stories.

Birds fly,
and I am holding on to their
feathers; they lose them sometimes, but never on purpose. 
 
Death takes,
and I don't try to stop her from taking,
for she turns back the hands of time. And it means
my salvation.

Luxury
is something your life
would be miserable without.

How can the king help you,
if he doesn't even know
that you exist?

Don't watch the clouds;
watch the sky.
I give this advice
to myself.

Everyone needs Peace,
but not everyone has the courage
to admit it.

The gift you haven't asked for.
Sometimes can feel like unwanted.
Even if, it is still a gift.
Someone has made an effort to please you.

Sometimes you don't like it,
but you wouldn't sell it cheap,
let alone give it away for free.

Then every day makes you thinking more and more
about pulling the ribbons and see
what is inside.
And if it can save you.

I wish I could say what I think,
without hesitation, second thoughts.

I know we have freedom of speech,
but something makes me bite my tongue.

Wise men say silence is golden,
but dead men say silence is gross.

I wish I could say what I think.
I wonder how some would react.

I wonder whose face would grow scarlet,
and who would laugh in my face.

How much do I have to lose?
Shall I just say it out loud?

Or wait until they tape my mouth
and cut my tongue, close the case.

Oh, then it will be too late.
It will be a bit too late, I'm afraid.

I always open my mouth
in a wrong time,
in a wrong place.

It is:
All the time. Everywhere.

Not because I say outrageous things,
but because it's so easy to offend someone
nowadays.

It is not that hard
to ignore what you don't know.
Much harder is to ignore
what you know.

But it's worth it.

It's still cold outside,
so why are the birds singing
so joyfully and so loudly?

Still freezing out there,
so why are the flowers blooming?
I don’t understand.

The hope is still cursed,
so why am I writing this poem,
like it was my first?

You don't really need a car,
do you?

Prisoners
know more about freedom
than us.

Desire to
desire less -
like fire,
which burns my flesh

and soul.

Meditation
is the process of removing
goals.

We clearly see the illusion of material things.
We simply choose to ignore it,
hoping for getting approval from above.

It doesn't matter how high we think of ourselves,
how high we hold our heads.
At the end of the day,
we are equally invisible to the night.

More you want,
less you get.
More you try to remember,
more you forget.

More you try to be happy,
more sad you feel.
Less time you have left,
more time you ****.

The wiser you are,
the less you know.
The more you desire,
the less you own.

They thought it was easy:
they tick the boxes
and we dissapear.
But it didn't work like this.
It never does.
They should have known it by now.

The problem is,
we aren't just boxes to tick.
If you **** your nightmares,
you will forfeit sweet dreams.

They hate everything what is different,
but on the surface
they are nice people,
who wouldn't hurt a fly.

Haven't we all got two personalities,
good and bad?
Heaven and Hell in one?
At time it makes us dizzy.

Some of us suddenly switch
way too easy.

Cold is the morning
and I don't feel like going back to this awful place
today.

Will anyone notice my absence?
Or maybe I am overthinking again.
Life is a waiting.

Poor kids, they built Heaven and Hell.
Now they are running away
to the safety.

She lives next door,
she never talks.
She never cooks.
She never has visitors.

She never comes out,
I only saw her once or twice,
not even sure if it was her.
Maybe she is hiding.
Maybe there is something I don't know.

She doesn't go to work,
I doubt she has a job.
How does she pay her rent?!
Or maybe there is something
I don't need to know.

She doesn't make any noise,
she never gets on anyone's nerves,
no one ever complains about her.
And still she makes everyone around
move out.

Or maybe there is something
I don't want to know.

I asked my dead friend:
'Have you been to Heaven?'
Of course! - he exclaimed!
Many times. And you? 'Never...'

'How was it?' Nothing special 
 - he was quick to admit.
Overpriced, tourists trap.
I prefer it here, where I live.  

I asked: 'Are you serious?!'
He replied: Yes, my friend.

Then we went for a coffee.
It was a beautiful day.

Maybe it wasn't him,
who was making decisions,
maybe he was just filling the orders
of his supervisors.
What if there was bigger God above him?

Maybe he didn't know about anything,
nobody briefed him
on what was going on down here.

Wha if he is innocent
and can't take the responsibility
for injustice and pain?

What if he never had the right
to an advocate?

The motto
of one of the Inquisitors of The Church was:

"We would gladly burn a hundred,
if just one of them is guilty".

Sounds familiar?

They have children,
they have homes,
they have money,
they have jobs,
they have good cars,
and many more things they want to have.

I have paper and pen,
I have my poems,
that's enough.

Smile to yourself,
don't smile to others,
apart from children,
smile to them,
for they will appreciate it
and understand.
But don't smile to their mothers and fathers.
They will think you are weird.

Don't smile to strangers,
they will ignore you,
or will take it as your weakness
and will dare to approach you
and ask for money or a cigarette.

Smile to yourself,
to the face in the mirror,
you will feel safe,
you will feel like a winner!

Oh please stop swearing,
here is the coin,
put it under the tongue.
It should calm you down.

You were so quiet all your life,
and suddenly this.  

I know,
it must be hard -
missing the world,
the wound is still fresh.

But what about others?
Will you not let them to get some sleep
before the dawn?

You agree with me, saying
that I have taken them out of your mouth.
Yes, correct,
like literally.

I dared.

I'm not scared of the rain
and storms.
Yes, I am guilty of being a dreamer,
so what?

I was travelling
in part by the river,
in part by the sea.

Just him
and his pen
against the whole
world.

He'll lose many
battles,
but he'll win

the war.

The gallery is closing soon,
hurry up,
don't say you will come
another time.

I bet you want to see "Sunflowers".
You say you can wait.

You can? Okay, but
what if they can't?

They hold me tight,
they kiss my lips,
my eyes.

When it's time to wake up
they say: "Don't worry,
stay in bed.
Keep dreaming,
keep dreaming,
don't let anyone wake you up."