I used to never say never,
I knew every rose has thorns.
I used to be wise and clever,
but that was before I was born.

I used to believe in magic,
and that I would never be gone.
I lived my life to the fullest,
but that was before I was born.

I knew how to always be happy
and cherish the smallest joys.
I used to get cramps from laughing,
but then I came to this world.

I am partying hard,
every day and every night
at the Festival of Poetry
- the festival of my life.

My bracelets are
flickering in the moon.
I am singing and kissing flowers,
they are making me bloom.

I am drinking the sweetest wines,
that have ever been made.
I am ecstatically dancing
with naked silhouettes.

I am partying hard,
every day and every night
at the Festival of Poetry
- the festival of my life.

Spilling the ink of joy
until my very last breath.
There won't be any hangovers,
any post mortem regrets.

I feel like a failure,
when I compare myself to people
who already died.

I gave some spare change to a beggar today.
It hasn’t changed my life, neither his.
But it has changed something.
It was a small, but real
change, change to
be spared.

The World is giving us many clues
to find the meaning of life.
But we ignore them.

"Life is so short",
said a man to his wife,
"So short I want to cry!"

The wife replied:
"I didn't know my husband
isn't a man, but a butterfly".

He was praising death's name,
but they were scared to die.

He wore death like a perfume,
but they told him he stank.

He said: Death isn't scary,
you are scared for you're weak.

But they chose to be fearful,
and they died of the fear.

Let them drink this blood
from the river of your body.

This river is endless,
it's only you who is scared of drowning.

Let them **** the thirst,
don't you know how it feels to be thirsty?

Let them take what it's theirs,
don't be too ****** selfish.

My torch is switched off
so I could better see
the darkness, for only the darkness
can show me the way
and set me free.

My torch is useless,
I drop it on purpose. I pretend though
that I do it accidentally.
Jus to let my demons believe
that they still follow me.

My torch is dead,
and I am so alive.
I shine and I can't stop shining
with the inner
Light.

I talked with the stars yesterday,
I asked them are they scared to die.
They said that their death is my life.
And then I started to cry.

They asked me why am I being sad.
I said no, these are just tears of joy.
They asked me why am I lying,
like if they knew what I didn't know.

I talked with the stars yesterday,
and I couldn't resist the thought
that I wasn't talking to myself.
But today I know I was.

We have finally arrived at our destination.
The area was thick with silence.
That was the only difference
from the loud places we have passed through
on our way.
We felt like we have escaped the worldly lives.

Dead things feed me with fruits of forgiveness,
compassion and unconditional
love.

I spit them out,
I don't deserve them,
for they are dead
because of
me.

There may be winners amongst losers,
there may be losers amongst winners,
for no one knows what future holds.

You may be fighting death like crazy,
or scream: Please, turn me into dust!!!
What’s better for you - you won’t know.

But do not worry - there is justice
for the unfairness of this world.
For you won't die if you are born.

I lost my life when the giant wave
came crashing. I was deep in the sea,
swimming against the current,
trying so hard to break free.
I think that day I broke free.

I still recall this moment, when the water
filled my young body with its warmth.
And then they found it on the shoreline,
cold and stiff. I still see it all.
It was long time ago, but I still see it all.

And they took the white body with them, like sea shell collector
takes home the little conches he'd found in the sand.
And they kept the memory of it for so long,
till they themselves became the memories when they died.
And they kept me tight in the pocket of death, till they died.

Who promised you tomorrow?
Who promised you today?
Who said that is for certain
you'll take another breath?

Who said that life will get you
everything you deserve?
Who said that death is awful?
And that there is The End?

Who lied about the future,
who lied about the past?
Who made you sad? Who turned you
in a giant made of dust?

All we really need is on the other side.
Everything here is a clutter,
brought to us by a random tide.

We see this world
with strangers' eyes.

Everything here is in darkness,
but fear you not,
for every darkness turns into light.

We have no beginning,
and even if we had,
we would look for it
in vain.

And that knowledge saves us
from the impossible
pain.

Peace is just a tea break
between wars.
Make sure you have a sip
before you have to go.

Feed your demons,
don't starve them,
but don't stuff them with food too much neither.

Find a balance, keep them satisfied.
That's how they will remain in the line
and obey you.

Love them to some extent.
Never show them
that you hate that they hate you.

I love my life - I would lie if I said
I don’t, but then there is a speck of doubt
like rats infesting my life-loving head,
telling me that we live in a slaughterhouse.

Maybe that's truth, but then would my despair
would bring the solace to my fragile mind?
Would I gain more from breeding heartless hate?
Would I see more If I went - by force - blind?

The butcher’s wait is over, he needs blood.
The rats are hungry - their teeth are sharp.
And there is me - small ship dodging the flood

of angry red. There is my broken harp.
There is me singing a life-affirming verse.
And there is Justice of the Universe.

Knowing is death

and only learning how to forget
will let you shed the painful skins
and grow the last one,

which will be made of silent suede.

I will come back to the place someone else
once used to call home.

My eyes will kiss again the flame-rotten moths -
it will be a pleasure
to see them escaping their unknown fate,
at last.

I will pray to the sun again,
when my time comes. There will be no one pushing us
to the oblivion of tomorrow.

Let it rain to the end of the world,
let it cry until the clouds get dry.
Sometimes we have to let it all go,
sometimes it is the only way out.

Hurricanes and tornadoes around,
thunderballs take the summer by storm.
Let it hit, let it rule - let it die,
that's how our hooray will be born.

There's no place to escape from this hell,
there's no chance to survive - there's no way -
the rain's falling on us, night and day,
or it is something more than the rain?

Heavens they have been crying all month,
maybe over a life someone's lost,
maybe someone has died well too young,
maybe it was something even worse...

Heavens they have been crying it out
all its tears, then its eyes, then its heart.
Sometimes speechless we are when life clouts,
our planet is a house of cards.

On the chair your wet coat, your wet coat,
my wet hat on the table, my hat.
Our old boat is drifting ashore
with the sail by the wind torn away.

But this land meant to be our land
and this weather is us - our part.
Let's unite and let's fight and let's mend
all those sails which have been tore apart.

Let it rain to the end of the world,
let it cry till the tears get dry.
Sometimes we have to let it all go,
sometimes it is the only way out.

Let it do it all over again,
let it hit, let it rule, let it die!
We are scared, we are tattered and torn!
We'll be safe - it's a matter of time.

Heaven is so close,
but the Hell is always a bit closer.
You have finally quit playing dead,
but the game of life was already over.
Now you are looking for salvation...
You will sooner find a five leaf clover.

I didn't start the war.
I swear it wasn't me!
I was sitting in my bedroom
listening to music and drinking tea.

I have no reason to fight,
to **** or retaliate.
I despise violence.
And I also meditate.

I don't follow the news,
I'd say they rather follow me.
That is my only crime,
that I feel for the killed.

And yes, I cried when I saw
a woman holding her dead child,
her eyes were red from scream
to the silence of the sky.

Yes, I cried when I saw it,
I couldn't stop my tears.
That is my only crime,
that I feel for the killed.

I always wanted to leave the dead womb
at least for a second,
and see the Light, and feel Its warmth.
I always wanted to know how it is to be alive for a day or even an hour.

I always wanted to feel the life blooming inside me like a flower.
I always wanted someone to call me their child,
and to give me name, which would protect me from exile.

I always wanted to forget the past, or at least fill it
with something less visible, less alive.
I always wanted to be able to
exist without the constant tilt of time.
No, the senses lie - I have never wanted to die.

To escape the never ending desire to taste the fruits
from the garden of Hell.

I never wanted to be forced to leave,
for there would be no place to go, I am afraid.

Sunday morning.
A fragrant storm  
in a coffee cup.

I am the best thing
that has 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.

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.

And my kingdom has fallen too,
though I tried hard to save its glory.
All the gods and the goddesses I served
they're upset with me. I'm so sorry.

I could easily raise above the ground,
if I only wanted - I was so strong.
But I've lost again what I had found,
They were right,  and I - I was wrong.

Look at us, we are running away
from the country that used to be our home.
Didn't think I could ever betray
my own land, my own people, my soul.

It's too late to sit and whine,
it's too late to seek any forgiveness.
Too late to turn back the hands of time.
I'm the killer, the victim - and the witness.

I could run, join them and disappear,
leaving cities of ruins behind.
But I'll stay here, that's all I can do
I'll stay here and admit my crime.

And I look every day in the mirror,
telling myself "What have you done?".
But I won't run away like others,
I'll stay here till the day I die.

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.

And when it starts raining,
you know it will not stop any time soon.
It grabs you, the feeling
of being alive -  but how long for?
A second, a minute, a day,
a week, a month, or a year?
The tide will turn, you will change.
The raindrops will dance in the puddles,
like nothing else has ever mattered.

And when it starts raining,
you know it is time to say good bye
to the places you have visited
and to the all things that have kept you alive.
And even now, it feels like
it is a beautiful day.
For what does it mean to be alive,
anyway?

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.

Well, anyway,
the guard will come to see me one day,
shouting: Hey, you! You've done your time!
And now we have to take you away!
Okay?!

Okay...

But where to?

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.

Time to embark on another journey
through the islands of words, avoiding
dangerous pitfalls and **** the desire
to look back, knowing well what it means.
And no one wants to go back to the square
one, to auto-da-fe everything what has
made us. We strive for engagement with
the light—the mother of all lights. The source
of inspiration, the fuel, and the weapon
against the darkest nights spent waiting
for something, knowing that it will never
come. Knowing is evil.

Another day, a mission impossible to complete.
Whether the apple has been eaten, or no,
we would still be dripping this light
on our journey to the unknown.

Luxury is something we don't need
and something what makes our life
not ours.

Our true self is so far from us,
that it doesn't even know that we exist.

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.