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.

The body I temporarily own,
I cherish and I adore -
it'll be taken from me,
I will become
free.

The eternity I crave,
my nothingness I try to escape -
she will offer the shelter for them.

To the mystery of life
she will find the clue,
and the child who will die in me,
in her belly will move.

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.

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.

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.

My neighbourhood
hungry pigeons,
small supermarket,
Turkish kebab shop.

People with faces
of a lonely ghosts,
dull cars, loud airplanes
bugging their own noise.

Fake beggars, cafe
full of strangers' talk,
grey skies above me,
ex-paradise lost.

My neighbourhood,
weekend market's stalls,
park, always empty,
closed down gospell hall.

I've got a new friend, he is called... I forgot.
He told me the other day.
He said he's got many names. At least four.
He told me how is he called.
But I don't remember at all.
He said:
- Don't worry, maybe it's even better that you don't remember,
don't worry my friend. Just call me a friend.
Sometimes I forget my names myself. Who cares!

My new friend comes from... I can't remember.
He said he was born in one country,
and raised in another, then moved somewhere else,
only to move yet somewhere else.
He told me all these countries names,
but I forgot. What a shame.
I said to him: My friend, I'm sorry, but I don't remember them,
the countries you were born and raised, and the countries
you lived before we met.
But he said:
- Don't worry, my friend, I don't take offence,
maybe it's even better that you forgot it,  mate.
It's fine. Let's forget the past. Let's say I'm from here, okay?
Okay. But...
- No, no but, mate. It's not a problem at all.
Sometimes even me I forget when I was born
and where I lived. Who cares! I don't care myself.
It doesn't matter anymore what's your name, where are you from.
It was never a big deal to me. Never something to be proud of, to brag,
more likely something to hide, to cry about.
I asked him: Why?
He replied:
- You wouldn't wanna know.
I said: I would.
He said:
- Nevermind.

My shadow
it wants to be me,
it's jealous,
can't walk and can't sleep.

It thinks
that I'm living a dream -
it would do anything
to be me!

Be careful
what you wish for
- I keep telling him.

And he is surprised,
he doesn't understand.

One day
we will swap fates anyway.

My time has come before I haven't had. So I sat in Oxford Circus
and watched men without home as they were passing by,
taking pictures of big screen above us,
where Katie Hopkins smiles.

My time has come and I didn't ask why I haven't come yet.
Who is to ask? Who is to blame, when no one knows the name of the game,
they just want to play, play, plaaaay.

I headed down the Regent Street
where hundreds in store and out store mannequins
were making a fuss. And man on the bus I looked at,
he looked at me but it was more like a glance.
Don't you wanna look at, or look inside? It's waste of time?
OK, so bye. Enjoy your ride. You're not from here, I know. How?
I know it, right?

I'll better go back under Katie Hopkins's smile,
where high and dry and where I can wait me never coming,
watching like broken mirrors shine.

If there's no heaven, then fine, cause I've found mine.

I'm sitting in my room,
writing,
believing that I can change the world,
knowing that I can't,

I'm sitting here, alone,
I'm thinking of those who are suffering,
those who've lost everything,
those, who will never feel like home.

I'm sad,
feeling like crying,
wishing to save the world,
knowing well that I won't,

but something tells me
to keep on trying.

I'd like to be
a nightingale.

Nightingales sing
the beauty of the night,
the moon, the stars,
and the starry light.

Unlike a man.
Man sleeps at night,
only snores to the stars,
only gasps to the moon,
hate its bright light.

He needs to wake up at dawn
and wash his face
and hurry up,
and chase the bus,
do things he hates.

That's why
I want to be a nightingale.
In fact, I am.

They call me
a man,
a poet, a tree,
a river, a flower, a bird,
a stone. Rain
and sun.
But none of these names
is mine.

My name is Noname.
I was named after nothing
and no one.

There is nothing but darkness
on the other side.
Black night, like an ocean,
with black moon,
like dead man´s smile.

Nothing but darkness
at the end of the tunnel
of life.

The flickering flame
of darkness.

Some of us call it light.

Diamonds, gas, and rope,
smallest glimpse of hope,
happiness and peace,
drugs and happy pills,
wild *** and fast cars,
Pepsi, chocolate bars,
whisky, *****, beer,
football on TV.

Want a paradise?
Well, you know the price.


Schools and therapists,
dentists, psychiatrists,
swimming pools and saunas,
It's all about "How much?".

Tanks, bombs, hospitals,
blood, guns, funerals,
Status, truth, and lies
"all exclusive" price.

Pay for stupid wars,
for the human corpse.
Pay for rent and food.
pay for "I feel good!"
pay for sleepless nights,
for your born-to-die.

Because nothing is for free,
even if it seems to be.

Oh, don't abandon me, Athene,
for you are the only one
I care about.

If you forget me, Athene,
there will be nothing I can live for
and I will die.

Oh, please don't leave me, Athene, alone,
at the mercy of pigs  in the mud.
I will be dead lost without you,
and nothing will make me alive.

Waist band
shaping the waste land.
Wait, time!

This is the road I used to walk to school,
here's a shop, where I used to buy sweets,
and in this house, here, lived a girl I secretly loved.

This is my favourite cherry tree,
this is my house, my home,
and this is my mum, my dad,
my brother and my sister, happy times.  

I'm not in the picture, no, I'm not.
Why? Let's say because I... I was taking this shot.

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.

On the tube,
on the Jub-
ilee line,
feeling fine.
Almost fine.
Out of ten - nine,
or maybe eight,
if not seven.
Tube ain't heaven
more like hell,
feeling unwell
actually,
I'd give it six
out of ten,
no, five, man,
four, or less,
three, it's a mess
fresh-airless,
crowdy, jeez,
two I'd give,
one, oh, no,
getting worse,
can't breath now,
zero out
of ten, ouch,
let me out,
let me out!

Our zoo is not locked up at all,
and it doesn't look like a zoo.
It looks like there's no keeper in here,
but this is not true.

He does exist, he's watching us,
he doesn't let us escape before we die.

He makes us feel that zookeepers are us,
but it's not like that.

But I better shut up,
as he can overhear my words.
I better come back to my lair,
trying to hibernate.
And you better come back to your screeching,
your gibbering and neighing,
your whooping,
then the guard will be pleased,
he will love you.

Hello Sir,
how are you today?
We can offer you
a contract for life,
it's called
Pay As You Die.

You simply pay
in days, weeks and months,
7 days per week
or up to 31 days per month.
Simple as that.

You can also pay in advance:
365 or 366 days per year,
that's not a lot
taking under consideration
amount of time
you'll need to prepare yourself to die.

Also we can, for free,
help you to speed the things up,
you can gain a lot!

Let me know, please
are you okay with this?

Why not?

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

People who shout deserve no sympathy,
shouting is stupid, callous, rude, and cheap.
Nothing good can come out of it, but bad,
it made those shouted ones scared, frightened, stressed.
Honestly, shouting's the worst thing, I guess.

Those husbands yelling on their caring wives,
they don't deserve to be loved, should be banned
from getting married, making women cry.
Or fathers shouting on their kids. Oh no,
they don't deserve to see them, oh they don't!

Not only them, but anyone with voice
raised to the level of barbaric noise,
should have their shouty mouths zipped, forcefully,
if they don't want to calm down, quiet be.
It is a matter of human dignity.

People who shout should go to prison, yes,
punished for making other's lives a mess.
Look at dictators, they shout to terrorize
their own people, they are never nice,
most of them are just heartless psychopaths.

I don't hate anyone, for it's not fair,
but people clamouring - I can't stand them.
Shouting to do is a very shallow thing,
sign of pure lack of common decency,
barbaric, rude, inhuman, callous, cheap.

If you do shout, please keep away from me,
and I will keep away from you, I will,
for life's too short to live under the thumb
of shouting idiots, monsters, psychopaths,
barbaric, rude, inhuman, callous brats.

As long as you
play dead,
you'll be alive.

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.

Poet lives amongst people,
in the land of sadness and happiness, where they live,
he dresses up like them, speaks like them,
in their language he had to learn.
But when he is on his own, he speaks in own tongue
to not to forget it.
He speaks with the dead, he keeps in touch with them,
to make sure everything goes according to plan.

He is afraid to tell what he sees,
in case people put him down and disbelieve.
He forces himself to keep his mouth shut,
he knows the price. He can't just die,
he's on a mission. So carefully
he smuggles in the truth in his poetry.

Just him
and his pen
against the whole
world.

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

the war.

One day it will erupt
and turn this city into grave - I say.

No one believes a fortune-teller,
no one wants to face the fate.
They won’t leave Pompeii,
nothing can make them go,
there's no place like this
in the whole Rome.

Nothing will make them leave,
only fools run away from paradise.
They are singing and drinking wine,
girls are dancing and music's playing.

I wish I didn't know how it will end,
I wish I was one of them.

I'll pour some wine into the glass
and down it as fast as I can,
and then I'll have another one,
and another one.
I'll be singing with them, dancing.
I'll kiss a girl and then I'll sleep with her,

I will be trying to forget it.

Every death is unexpected,
takes us always by surprise.
Darkness always falls so heavy
from the red Pompeian skies.
Never ready for her visit,
she will come to take your life.

Even if the holy fire
comes to wash your sins at night,
it will wake you up and frighten,
it will make you run for life.
Suddenly, without a warning,
all your dreams and hopes will die.

Young or old - it doesn't matter,
man or woman, noble, slave,
saints and sinners, bankers, poets
will end up in the same grave.
Our bones won't be discovered,
unless by an accident.

Everyone has the volcano,
sitting over their town.
One day it'll unleash inferno,
even when it's quiet now.
It will follow you, if happens
you decide to leave, move out.

Every death is unexpected,
takes us always by surprise.
Even if you say I'm ready,
you will run and try to hide.
But there will be no escape
from the red Pompeian sky.

Pop *****.
Pop smells bad.
Pop stinks actually.
Stinks like
dead.

His stinge is loud,
his thumping smell
reverberating,
turning neighbours' life
into death.

And no one in town
is concerned.

Pop is dead,
Rest In ****,
**** you came from,
**** you believed.

Those poppy fields were lifeless,
but now they shine with light.
The war has made them bleeding,
the Peace has made them smile.

Each flower is a soldier,
who sacrificed his life,
who gave up his own future
to make our future count.

Each flower tells a story
of man and woman's fight,
you hear them in the glory
of petals shining bright.

Shhh, quiet, can you hear this?
The flowers -  making sound.

The unsung heroes singing
the song of joy - and life.

Oh, Princess,
I missed you like crazy,
dying of Winter cold,
graving.
I turned into shadow.

With your lips made of light
kiss me back to life,
save me.

How beautiful you are,
how bright green are your eyes,
and how sparkling are diamonds
in your tiara.
And your floral dress again
drives me
crazy.

Turn me
into cherry blossom tree.
Skylark me, robin me into the song,
iris me, moisten my stalk.
Breastfeed me day and night,
like a new born baby -
I am one.

Spring me, May me
one more time. Make me
young and free.

Last sip of water before I will go back
where I came from.

Please tell my daughters that I'll buy them flowers
when I come home.

No, I can't stay, take the gold, take my body
- I won't need it anymore.

I had made my decision, long time before I made it.

I'm not thirsty at all.

I sold my intimacy
for sake of publicity,
*** sells in democracy,
Lord Dollar, please set me free!

I see now - hipocrisy
takes over things I believed.

I'm naked, they look at me,
they buy me, they make me free,
but Freedom is what I seek.

Oh, Freedom is all I need
in times of Great Slavery,
when each day's a robbery.
I'm poorer than younger me,
I'm richer than older me.

I sold my intimacy
for sake of modernity
and shameless society
without any dignity.

My body's all they can see,
my body is all they need
to make them happy and free,

but, they, in reality
unhappy are, slaved for keeps,
so am I, and I can see
mistakes I've done, idiot me,
for sake of publicity,
I worship idiocracy,
****-riding pussocracy,
like war with Intimacy.

Half-naked girls in the street
and women ****** on the screen
by dumb masculinity.
Life-saving *******,
no, *******, you can't save me.

Where is my intimacy?
I've sold it, oh stupid me,
for sake of publicity,
*** sells in democracy.

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.

Radio
was playing Piano Concerto
by Sergei Rachmaninov,
and I felt like passion and love
were filling my heart.

My heart is like a dove.
And I'm off,
I'm off to Paradise.

And it can rain
and it can snow,
and Fate
can tumble the dice.
Nothing can stop me now,
on my way
on my way to Paradise.

Good Morning!
It's quarter past five.
How are you?
And why are you awake?
Early start?
Or something else?
Tell us everything
about yourself.
Tell us who you are
and where,
and most importantly, why.
You don't know?
Hahaha. Fun guy!
You are a star!
Have a lovely day.
Bye!

Francis is calling from Nigeria. Hi Francis.
Welcome to the show, thanks for getting in touch.
I've never been to Nigeria, but I've heard that
it's a beautiful country.
Yes, but...
Have you got
a safari in Nigeria?
Yes but a bit different...
That's cool! I'd love to see that! Francis, what are your
plans for tonight?
We are going to...
Let me guess -
to the party. That's awesome! Have a good time,
enjoy! You are young and free!
No we are going to
the local village, to bury bodies of few men,
they were killed...
Killed? Oh my God that's terrible,
tell us more! Were they killed by wild animals?
No, by...
Hello? Francis? Are you still there?
We've lost our listener, unfortunately. What a shame.

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.

Turn off the radio, listen carefully
what rain is trying to tell you.
Psst, focus now, don't breath,
rain is whispering you something.
But you have to be all ears
to hear it. Now, it's almost clear.
Rain is telling you its secret away.
Psst, it is whispering, letter by letter,
try to catch them and put them together
in a sound. It's clinking now quite loud,
now is your chance, or never.
If you don't get it now, it will be lost
forever.
Hang on,
and?
Oh, you've missed it out
now it's gone. But don't worry.
Not only you.

Try next time.
That's all you can do.

They are holding
your pale wrists
tight.

Said rat to the rat:
"I wanna be cat,
I'm fed up with being a rat,
I am more than that".
But rat replied:
You better shut
up, you nut.

Running away from the barbaric land,
where eye-for-an-eye is the only law.
Running awayfrom the blind hatred of its people,
from my own home, which has been besieged.

Fleeing the wars and heartless bombs,
hollowed eyes and kidnapped souls.
Runnig away from prophets and preachers.
From life after life and death before death.

Sometimes I wish
I was never born,
but, well,
I somehow was.
So help me out
and build me house,
if you wanna stay in yours.

After work
I usually go home
to rest my body in a motionlessness.

I'm watching tv
and think how fortunate I am to not to be on the screen. And that this world
is a sad place to be, for you don't suffer yourself anymore,
and you don't suffer seeing others suffering,
doomed to emotionlessness of Twenty First Century.

After work
I'm watching ****. That is my way to bring my dead body to life,
like electric shock for someone who died.
Don't blame me for that.
We all have our own way to survive another day in "paradise".

I'm watching
bodies ******* bodies, and I forget for a while, that I am nobody,
and that body
is all what remained from soul,
and that *******
is all what remained from love.

And that all we've managed to save from the End
is naked certainty that there's no God left,
only us, only our bodies,
craving to be alive and copulate.

I hope that is what you wanted to hear.

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.

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.

Someone
has robbed me yesterday,
has stolen my dream
of living in a world
where nothing is fake.

And I can see him,
he is everywhere,
all over the papers,
on the Internet.

I recognize
his innocent face.

James Bond is cool
but I'm not sure
the armed guy should be the one
to rule,
to save a belle
from hell.

A man with a gun - it could be anyone,
not only Bond.
But guns are wrong,
and we all know, it won't
make world a better place, oh no.
Violence is not the way.

I'd like to see Prince William as James Bond,
with bunch of flowers in his hands,
instead of gun.
That would be fun.

And Duchess Kate
as real Bond's girl,
always a smile away from her man.

That would be great.

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.