I was created from air and tears.
I was born from humility,
which is foreign
to this land, to unknown skies.

I do not want to be a dream
that disperses in darkness;
I do not want to remind of existence,
which misses the lie.

With each subsequent vision
I come closer to a universe
that, hastily invented, does not associate
with tenderness,
does not connect with silence.

Please think, before the last tear,
the definitive flame of a smile,
falls asleep in you.
My body, divided into chapters,
becomes an apocalypse,
for which it is worth visiting paradise,
admitting sadness.

I do not want the future
to belong entirely to me.
I do not want the reflections of shadows
to hurt my heart.

I watch your illusions furtively -
I am leaving this place, looking for
another penance.
I will no longer dance as the ballad desires,
as the dream indicates.

I will not become the foundation
for senses.

For many decades, I believed
that selling my heart was worth it.
Without ceremony,
at a bargain price,
to entrust it to better hands.

I believed that the mutual morning
would return with
the first breath.
The first light green tear
will be resurrected under the eyelid -
there is too much loneliness.

It came to light - prayers
will remain unanswered
if anxiety does not find its way,
does not reach
the margin of future.

You dreamed clearly
and to spite my melancholy; I felt
the taste of forbidden words,
the breath of thoughts
that were waiting for
their turn.

You know, I would like to dedicate
to you the remnant of light -
tenderness belongs to
someone else.

Passion? Shame on me
to admit my silence.
Will I find you when one more sip
of life, the last unintentional cry,
has simply faded away?
Will you return to hand me
eternity, again late, again lost?

I found you on the wrong side
of chiaroscuro.
I asked for sleepless raindrops,
so unlike your tears.

I tried to dream the future,
so that the door would remain
open and the window would be barred.

I know that you are
still looking for a way back - dawn
will not compensate you.
Twilight will not give you
forbidden fruits, although your skin
will be rough.

I want to breathe unknown air,
feel a touch so generous
that I will forget the directions
of the world, the amount of tears
I have shed.

You immerse yourself in me,
although I miss my own world so much.
I recognize in you
the tenderness for which I still
talk to the stars,
I am ashamed of the Moon.

Did you know in whose hands
my desolate evenings die?
Do you remember
how painfully
I needed silence, when the crowd
shouted against the sky,
against fruitless hope?

I'm running away from the Earth,
I'm hiding in the attic
of my heart; among the deposits
of dust I find
your fulfilled tears
and my unrequited letters.

I am stuck in longing to the very top
of my soul. I try to erase
fear from a graphomaniac autobiography.
Nostalgia will come back
to draw the stars for you,
to soothe the smile
that is too vast to talk about future.

No one cares about my dawn;
I wake up to find at last
the right hour,
which, within the limits
of patience and forgiveness,
will remain a fulfilled desire.

Will my heart find its way back
to solitude? Will the night be lost
when I admit to
an inappropriate guilt?

Glimpses of the wind that carries
your breath into the sleepless distance.
The emotions of the stars -
their rust-colored eyes
no longer see future.

The skies, stripped of their blueness,
are today only sadness,
an uncertain journey to existence.

I dreamed of an omnipresent time -
I meticulously defended nearby bodies,
I pretended that my own heart
was not due to me.

The embryo of humanity stirs within me -
hope fades, loyalty to freedom perishes.
The airiness of longing hides from
me the whisper with which
I dared to adorn my thoughts.

I am too sleepless to be born
without doubt. I raise my own world
from my knees - it is not far from here
to the last heaven.

I am only a favor for which it is worth
shining piously. I would like to create
my own paradise in you.

Unknown cities. Summarized sentences,
none of which exist
as a question. I am here
to awaken the night in you - too far away
to think about reality.

The present? Who thinks about it?
Is this another illusion?
Or maybe the exchange of answers
was too vigorous?

Pray on your conscience - the cloud,
entangled in your dreams, is a prelude
to the apocalypse. I would like to revive
memory, but I know:
a cry chases silence.

I came into existence to draw
the penultimate dawn in you.
I was born amidst desires, none of which
match your gaze.

I delight in the solemn present;
I watch from all sides of the world
this one needle through whose eye
my complaint about
the local wind escapes.

I wanted to get lost in life, but the reserves
of solitude were exhausted,
desire got lost.

Tired, ruined mornings,
when your shadow looks at itself
in a broken mirror.
The tree, bending under
the weight of forbidden fruit,
shivers, blown by a foreign breeze.

Lack of sleep -
your happiness
is an excuse. What good is it
that future has lied to me,
when insomnia is so blissful?

Here is another sold tear - its night
is not conducive
to the presence of stars.
I failed at the introduction
to the autobiography.
I got lost in light - the unknown
was heralding;
I got lost in an existence
that still protests, fights to lose.

The touch is shapeless, aimed straight
at the heart. I renounce the last greeting -
I am here to remain you.

Clouds, fawning at the feet,
bring an end to eternity, give hope
to the one who has despaired
of memory.