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Heartening
In its days of glory
Slowly dying an eternal end
Mari 3d
Tiny pieces of
Shattered glass
Appear like
Their crystals.
Nothing is useless, really!
sunday 4d
You know what’s beautiful?
A hug from the sun in the wintertime

You know what’s beautiful?
A kiss from the rain in the springtime

You know what’s beautiful?
You
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/7/2019

The sun has saddened its face
with lots of gray,
and made the mountains' bed
with an abundance of colors:

For Winter - it makes the bed with whites.
For Autumn - with reds.
In the Summer - with golds.
And for Spring? - with lyrical greens.

It has adorned everything
with shades of colors
awakened but still sleepy,
spoiling with correlation
of fiery greens.

Enamored time of red
of autumn colors
will turn the forest into one big flame
with fulfillment of flirtation.

A dewdrop sobs in the morning
put to sleep by dusk,
flying away as a wreath of rainbow
it returns at dawn.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/15/2001
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Like leaves

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/19/2018

If for the orphans of golden autumn,
Then only in a country where they dig out
From sycamores, beech trees* - among ancestors' shadows
Because these, constantly dying live.

If hands of the poor fall
Like golden leaves, without the law of gravity
- Then what must be never changes
And richer they die.

If everything ecloses itself in the space
Over the crowns with radial glow
Then nothing apart from this color will change...
They'll be reborn again in the multi-leaf tree.

Wieslaw Musialowski 9/22/2004

Beech tree is a national Polish tree often found in Polish poetry.


Indeed

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/23/2019

Nestled into a pillow before falling asleep
maybe you will think to yourself
I managed to get something done today
and the rest? let it happen in dreams,

when you wake up fresh in the morning,
like the grass silvered with frost,
the sun will twinkle with a ray
and everything shall be great,

at midday, you'll sit under a tree,
because it's pleasant to rest in the shade,
and to end the day successfully
you look at the tops of the mountains

and you think how wonderful and beautiful
is autumn, luckily, the forest is not burning

though beech trees as red as fire

Wieslaw Musialowski 9/2/2019

*A reference to The 2019 Siberian wildfires.
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Your scars
Tells the story that your lips could never utter,
Safe in the basement of your heart.
Bloodstains and tear drops have brought us to this moment.
I won’t abandon you now.

Hurry,
They’ll surround us, didn’t think they’d ever find us.
We’re so close to sanctuary and peace.
They’ll have to **** me before I ever surrender.
We can’t hide anymore.

Beautiful
Monster.
I’ll scream.
You roar.
The wounds you thought would never heal.
The loss of love you never knew.
I’ll love you til the end of time.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It’s time they know who you really are.
Arisa 6d
the night air is cold on my back; naked
white, glistening in moon's light
the glint of her silver combs my hair
caresses the cheek of all who dare gaze beyond
her lustrous face.

dotted by pearl freckles that pale her complexion,
brings beauty to nightfall.

o blissful treasure,
take me in my ascent
to your humble home
of crag and dust.

my celestial shore rests on the lunar frontier;
tucked in the embrace of space.
Another poem about my muse.
sometimes she is hard to love and makes you question yourself. she can be a riddle talking of the future, but only living for today. she is amazing in so many ways unexpected and beautiful. with all of that she sets my heart a blaze and captures my soul.
This confusing thing called love
wc 6d
poetry has the
ability to affect
us emotionally

poetry is the
most beautiful written art
it makes you feel things

things you have never
felt before, or you have not
felt in a long time

it opens up your
soul and brings back memories
suppressed long ago
god must have taken his time on you because he made you so ******* beautiful.
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