It is true we presume
When in darkness no light;
With thought no peace
And no peace with love.

Why do hearts melt
On an icey soul,
With indifference to caring
Selfish love is lifes troll.

One day pure bliss,
Warm joy over valleys;
Like ripe fruit scented kisses
Their end never foretold.

Another of twisted dead wood
Around a rotten apple.
Once bitten in haste
By passions of longing;
And motives of wanting.

In his law that we should
Strive to be loving and righteous .
We shall march through deep valleys;
Be a fleeting moment of
Great beauty and rage,
Shall we be brave enough;
To stamp our seal of love
On this timeline of old.

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/4/2019

It's evening, Lord! The forest birds
towards their nests lean their wings...
Minstrels of your fields
have stopped to sing their songs.

I've spent a whole long hard day at work
in tears, longing for home...
and you didn't have a single bright ray
from the lights of the morning and of the day, and of the sun.
My time slowly bends to an end,
the evening star, trembling in the sky,
already flashes among the shadows of the night.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)

____
I am not happy with the last line. Original: "already flashes/twinkles/shines among the shadows.

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/31/2019

The Night rose, all in white and fog,
and she shrouded the capital with silver breath,
and she lit up lightning bolts of diamond sparks
in the bedding of snows.
And who had a fireplace and loving arms,
that awaited him in his home,
was saying to this night "Be blessed! "
and who did not have, "Cursed be you! ",
And there were, ah! thousands of such voices...
And all shivering with cold and doubt,
and all strangely terrifying in silence...
Stars, stars on the sky! Does God hear them?
You look from up above, pale, and I'm also looking;
The wind is rising, and the snow is covering the road...
Stars, stars on the sky! if one of you responds,
I can't hear your soft and distant voice! ...

*

Oh, silvery Night! Fearsome queen!
You carry the iron scepter for the poor...
And misty hoarfrost veil overhead
you pin with a pearl of frozen tears.
Oh, silvery Night! is it your bright stars from heaven
they want, this crowd motionless and pale?
Have mercy, listen! All they're dreaming of is a little piece of bread -
and to warm themselves just a bit!
If I only were you, ice-hearted queen!
The largest diamond that shines in the azure skies,
I'd give to the poor into this snowstorm
for bread and fire for children...
And I know the sky wouldn't get paler
if for one of those beautiful stars in blue,
bright eyes, in which life then would have been ignited anew,
were shining with tears of joy into the air...
Oh, Night! You walk quietly, ice-cold,
upon your head snow crown glitters;
and your silver, heavy, long robe,
for a million - will be a shroud.

*

In front of the gate, where street lamps were burning,
the child stood, his teeth chattering.
Poor boy! he thought that the wall would protect him,
that the stones would warm him!
But the landlord has looked through the peephole
and quickly locked the door. And all at once hot child's tears,
like pearls, started to flow...
- "Tell him to go some other place! He'll drag us all into big trouble!
If he'll die outside from cold, things can get ugly,
police, investigation... maybe even jail! ".
Finally, the boy left crying. In the distance
granite walls of the temple were rising in the dark...
Above them - the fog of pale opals, and higher - grey ice clouds.
And a cross. The orphan - has knelt at the threshold.
Diamond snowflakes flew in the air...
He wanted to enter, but the church was shut tight
together with mercy and Almighty God.
If only Christ were here with us,
I know that every dark night he would walk
and gather the hungry and the poor
And he would feed them at his altars,
filling their hearts with faith and hope.

*

Chilled to the bone, child with glass eyes
was looking at the sky, at the Milky Way:
he wanted to complain, but his mother was dead,
so he whispered quietly through tears:
- "Our father, who art in heaven..." How it is possible, o son of God!
All nations call your father a Universal Sovereign
and you - staring at this blue palace -
are dying without a roof in front of a closed door?
"Our father, who art..." you say... and whose brother are you?
Those who with their dead souls in luxury anointed
with goblets full of wine in their hands
with loud cheers are drowning your dying moans?
"Our father, who art! ..." Lord God! do you hear this child
that speaks quietly with mouth pale with misery?
He deeply believes that you are a father to him,
and with this faith on his frozen lips, dies he!

*

The child started to pray... silvery fog
with a breath of his mouth has slightly dispelled,
at first hotter and blue-white,
later - cold and strangely transparent.
Finally, it disappeared... half open lips
stopped whispering prayers and complaints...
With dark silent edifice as only witness,
the child has died without a roof.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)

Girl
No, better than girl
Better than playground crushes
Summertime blushes
Fleeting rushes
And cheeks, those flushes
Not girl
But woman
Etched in notebooks
Eyes that look
Through soul
Grace visions
Pinpoint precision
Woman
In technicolor
Live
Electric, but wireless
In 4320p
High dynamic range
And legs for days
I see you
Cinematic
And wild in you ways
Like watching for the
First time a nature
Documentary
And knowing the lion is king
But the lioness, the hunter
Not cub I seek
But grown
Wonderful
Dangerous
Vivacious
Passionate

Woman
In technicolor
A world not her own
But give it time
As she toils
And breaks
And creates
And tries
And amazes
And blazes
And screams
And relaxes
And I stand in wonder
Under the weight
The awe
Of her
Woman
In technicolor
In worlds lost to the black and white
Of conformity
And distortion
The contortion of which
Make her seem small
But she not
At
All
She is technicolor
Made for IMAX screens
And this boy
Hoping to prove to be
Man’s
Dreams

Disintegrated wings,
Even angels fall too.
A glance up to the sky,
Caught a transcending view.

Landed on two feet,
An angel's new terrain.
Only few will sit and worship,
But most attempt in vain.

The sky was never cleared,
In fact, formations all the more.
A rabbit, a cake, an astronaut,
Even rain would still downpour.

Following in hopeful doubt,
Freedom's symbol is no chain,
Bare in mind, no change occurred,
The droplets were always acid rain.

Caught in fair deceit,
For my fault was to submit.
When glancing from the outside,
I didn't see the whole of it.

Because angels never fall,
With wings upon their back.
For a fall is cunning foolery,
And we're victims of attack.

Stuck in hypnotic values,
Our worth seemed to accrue.
But we must've forgotten the fact:
That the devil walks here too.

The walls are bare
and impossible to break down.
No way in.
and no simple way out.
The windows are boarded shut,
with splintering wood.
The shredded shades are drawn,
to **** any possible hope
of even a sliver
of light.
A single bulb hangs from the ceiling,
long since burnt out.
The hard concrete floor
is cold beneath her bare feet.

A wooden chair
stands in the center of the room,
but she prefers to sit on the floor.
Thinking that maybe,
hopefully
if she curls up enough
she’ll no longer be there.
Then, she can simply vanish into thin air.
Is it bad that she thinks of such a thing?
Yes it is
she’s just thirteen.

They wonder why she feels this way,
her life is perfectly lined up
with every detail planned out
and every possible event accounted for.
The perfect life she is expected to live.
She will do well in school,
get A’s in all her classes,
get into a private high school.
Then she’ll go on to an Ivy league college.
How can she not be happy with her life?
Doesn’t it sound perfectly perfect?
What more could she want?

Maybe she just wants to be heard
but no one will listen
because all they can think is
what more could she want
than this life?
Maybe she wants to go to high school with her friends.
Maybe she wanted to go to that party yesterday,
but couldn’t because she was studying
because if she gets below a perfect score on the test
she won’t be the best
and that strays off the path of this life laid out for her.
Oh no no no now we can’t have that.

So maybe it would be easier to just sit in a room
with baren walls, closed windows, and concrete floors
where no one can get in.
A room that was never there until
she came along.
A room she built with her own two hands,
piece by piece,
bit by bit,
until she put the last nail in the last window,
making it impossible to get in,
but not impossible to get out.

She could just leave.
She could kick down the door.
She could unnail the boards.
She could be free.
She could escape.
She could finally burn down
this House of Hate.

But out there,
there are people,
there are people with expectations that want things done
the same people who are forcing her to be number one.
But she doesn’t want to be number one all the time.
She just wants to have fun,
to be free, to have a say
in how her life is layed out
because you think it’s a neat straight line
but she would prefer
it to be a scribble all over the page.

She just wants to have a say.
But no one will listen to her voice,
it is overpowered by too many people
saying no,
too many people
saying this is what you do.
But her voice is never heard,
so why keep wasting her breath?

Her room is never found,
and no knocking ever comes.
No one ever starts banging on the door.
No one screams at her to let them in.
No one comes to save her.
And she’s gotten used to life being this way.
So instead of wasting her tears,
on “friends” who don’t seem to care,
she just sits in this room
staring at the wall
hoping
wishing
praying
that there was
none of her
at all.

The ooos and ahhs have hunched my mind,
Crippling my conception of a world undefined,
Wandering alone will tear the fabric of this frail design,
And crucify me upon a truth to which I am aligned.

There's a nuisance and a laughter waiting there, just in front,
When fear approaches it is made humble by humour's brazen affront,
Oh such honesty can only be existing to amuse or to make my edges blunt,
Turn the tables of their titles, I am neither teacher nor student.

Hallowed ground? not at all, it did regenerate its soil,
A ground that knew those ancient footsteps knows no more the walker's toil,
From creation's genius clowning I am so ready to recoil,
But I say face the laughing liturgy, recall the joke that roused your turmoil.

A joke that has remained there, at the core of every tear,
It is quiet, almost inaudible, if you will not hush your brain to hear,
Once discovered, like the sun, it strips the night of all its fear,
And in its wake there is a smile and a wreckage to revere.

Choices or challenges in life regardless of their outcome should be viewed as stepping stones to a wiser and more beautiful you.

The more you’ve been through the more aware and sensitive you become of the hardships others might be facing hidden behind forced smiles.

Sadly not everyone is able to handle or overcome hurdles they are presented with in their lives, by mental illness or by sheer circumstance.

Those of us that have been blessed with the strength and fortitude to overcome must remind ourselves daily that there are those that may need that one act of kindness, a strand of hope to face another day.

Hope can be a powerful thing but only for those who know it’s there. Some need a helping hand to see it, find it and grasp it.

Hope... I pray I never lose sight of it and if I should that there will be someone like you with a kindness of heart impossible to ignore to pluck me from the shadows.

©