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?

Cold is the morning
and I don't feel like going back
to this awful place.
Will anyone notice my absence there.

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

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?

Angels  and demons
share flats - and beds.

Angels and demons
are the best
- friends.

We try to change it
and make them fight.
We hate the darkness,
we want the light.

They live in peace
they know themselves well.

We are at war
but with ourselves.

If you want to learn
the art of flying,
ask angels, they are experts after all,
for people,
though they fly sometimes,
can only teach you how to fall.

Yellow leaves
falling
from the trees.

The quiet river
isn't calling my name -
it's calling me.

Autumn leaves
scattered under my feet
like funeral flowers.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Oh, stop swearing, please, here is your coin,
put it under your tongue,
it should soothe you.
You were so quiet and tranquil for your all life,
what happened to you?
Sudden anger, frustration, rage.

I know, it must be hard for you to say goodbye
to the things you adored and worshipped.
But there are others, what about them?
Will you let them to get a bit of sleep,
before the dawn comes?

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.

Dead man keeps following me
and asking for a spare life.
I wish I had one for myself.
That would be lot of fun.

Dead man keeps following me
and asking for a spare life.
He looks a bit disappointed,
he knows he stalks the wrong guy.

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.

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.

Death
is trying to be fair
at least.

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

and soul.

Empires: they rise, then they fall,
nothing can't change their fate.
Even the Ancient Rome
ended in a pitiful grave.

Fools want to rule the world,
claiming the foreign lands,
but waves of time will destroy
the castles they build on sand.

And us - we can save ourselves
from architects of demise
and never give up - never fail,
but in spite of them - always rise!

And no one will take our home,
and no one will make us slaves,
for Freedom is in our souls,
and runs in our blood, our veins.

Let's build the Empire within,
the strongest country of all.
The island no tyrant will take,
no enemy will reach its shores.

No matter how much I have lost,
my head high I'll always hold.
For everything I need to be free
is here - in my heart, in my soul.

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

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Flowers can speak
and beautiful is their language,
their voice.
You can hear them whispering
when silence falls.

But when they wither and die,
they scream
like mothers of children,
taken away from them
to be killed.

Prisoners
know more about freedom
than us.

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?

Full time poets
don't exist.
In this world
at least.

There is plenty of them
on the other side.
It’s only for us
it seems that they have died.

I think about God,
and more I think about Him,
I know him less.

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?

I overheard this whisper,
this gentle, peaceful chat:
Look, happiness is easy,
it's them, who make it hard.

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.

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.

I am in love with the country,
which doesn't exist anymore.
I am in love with its people,
for they have renounced the war.

I am in love with their women,
for in their modesty their beauty lies.
I am in love with their language,
for the alphabet of death never dies.

I am in love with the nation,
who didn’t **** in order to survive.
I remember that day very well.
It was love at last sight.

I can't tell my heart what to do,
it won't listen to me. It will do the opposite.
it will make me look like a fool.

Since the first time I met you, I knew
that we can't be just friends.
But my heart wasn't sad.

And I said to my heart: You are cruel!
and it smiled at me, it smiled at you.
And I looked so helpless that night,
and you looked so beautiful.

My heart knows best, it knows that I love you.
And it knows that I know that it knows.
Brain? Oh, brain. Brain has no say at all.

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.

If rain never comes,
I'll still love her.

If dream ends too fast,
I'll still love her.

If stars fall from the sky
sky above her.

If Love sadly dies,
I'll still love her.

I'm a poet,
I have nothing
except words.

I'm a poet,
I don't care about
the world.

Take your money,
take your cars
take your pearls.

I'm a poet,
I don't care about
the world.

Well, yeah, sometimes
I wish I was
someone else.

But I'm a poet,
poets can't escape
their Fate.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

What have we done wrong?
Why us?
We didn't vote,
we didn't rule,
we didn't lie.

We live in a stable,
not in a palace.
We don't eat caviar,
only hay and grass.

We didn't riot,
we didn't shout,
we didn't say a word,
so why they killed us?

Because we live in a stable,
and because we don't lie.
Because we didn't say a word,
that's why.

------------------------------------------------

Poem inspired by the news that *"Six police horses were injured by anti-capitalist demonstrators at last night's Million Mask March"

They dragged my naked body all over the town,
in front of the manically  joyful crowd
of clapping morons.

But none of them has made me the horseman,
none of them has made me the knight -
none of them has given me the name
and the freedom.

So I didn’t feel any pain, any shame.

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.

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.

He is a labourer.
He fills the skip,
he sweeps and cleans the studio,
he moves the boxes,
he wraps and packs,
he loads and unloads truck.
Nothing annoys him,
nothing ****** him off,
with a big smile on his face
he does his job.

He is a great labourer,
a happy chap.