Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/2/2019

Paint me such a village in the valley,
sad with dark green firs and cheerful with crops...
Let she all in red rowanberries be,
and let gray linen lay on her meadows;
let colorful rainbows throw themselves across the silent pond,
dispersed by air that spurts out of the waters deep.
Let the cloud of pigeons flutter overhead,
and dandelions' soft fluff and spiders' silk threads...

And paint pastures and fertile fields,
and in their black soil let wheat and barley shine with gold,
and let fiery red of poppies ridges beautifully adorn,
and poplars over the road make into a string,
and throw the silvery mist on the meadows...

And let they walk so, loudly, through the field
heifers' bells and clapping of whips.
Let the willows ponder by the murmuring stream,
casting shadow pre-sunset and long,
and quiet calming blue give around,
and fill the air with birds' happy babbling.
And put such a cloud on the mountains' brow...
And only people make ours, so dear to my heart.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)

* The original name of the poem is "In a foreign land", as
the poem was written in Karlsbad in Germany.

dear home,

i’m sorry. for everything. wholeheartedly. i’m sorry for leaving you with empty space i felt uneasy filling. for doubting you were my scripted setting. for losing faith that you could fully foster me. for getting too comfortable, falling victim to fickle feelings. for getting caught in the hypnosis of distance. for taking your endless roads for granted when they cradled me along. i’m sorry i didn’t listen when they said light is crucial to grow. and not the artificial kind i’ve come to know. i don’t love what i left you for like i thought i would. now i’m slowly learning a lesson in choosing rash choices. you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. some cliches are that way for a reason. but best believe i’m drenched in the karma of leaving you in the embers. i’m burning too but in other worse ways. you see, consequence caught up to me. it’s coarsened my skin and forces fake smiles. it lodges pits in my guts and steals lustre from thoughts. i’ve suffered. i deserve it. but make it not for nothing. because i miss your aura. i miss your seas. i miss the way we moved with ease. i don’t know a god, but i pray to the sky, that you haven’t forgotten those paramount nights. where we made memoirs out of nothing more than time. the moments we drank each other in. i soaked in your sun, and you in my skin. dear, dear home, please take me back. if you haven’t filled my space with a more steady heart, we can rework our tempos or just restart. it’s a tough sell, i know, but i’m ready to evolve. be my sunstone. be my backbone. be a part of me in any way.  i’ll turn my insides to clay to be what you need. whatever it is just please, please, please.

love,
a misplaced migrant

When you're homesick,
you should go outside and close your eyes.
Then look up into the night,
see all the clouds in the same blue sky.

*It feels like home doesn't it?

Ever since I was young I always longed for home
Was it in a tall oak tree looking over the hill country
In a muddy pasture with horses
A small condo with a view of a bustling street
Or a large house in the suburbs

Each day chasing every tide.
Each wave languidly crashing  over my hair as it smells of sea salt and cold waters.
The dark clouds that take up the sky, full of mysteries and the crisp air.
Or maybe in a large empty field  with no one near, yellow and orange flowers around me as the sun beats down on my tan shoulders.

Maybe, in the bright star of Sirius, light years way.
Maybe in the cold rain dripping down my car window
Maybe in the barren trees.
Maybe in the warm dusty desert.
Maybe in the green mist of the Amazon
Or the heavy air of the Himalayans.

I’ll tell you something it’s not here.