Saturday, July 1, 2023

BOZENA HELENA MAZUR-NOWAK


 

The Source Of Love

 

At the top of the stairs to your Church,

crumbs of eternity were scattered.

Between them, I found the sweetness of your heart.

You asked me to stay, even though, I was unworthy.

 

You forgave my sins and didn't ask for anything.

You bestowed never-ending love on me.

The memory of your gentle touch,

set me aflutter, and envelope in boundless trust

 

You, conjuring the mirage of endless love,

You drop down like rain on me with Heavenly brightness.

Stand close by me – stay in my soul and mind

and deep down in my heart – wherever I shall be, please.

 

The Farewell

 

Outside the window on the flower bed

colorful autumn is dancing

on brown leaves, sun showered in gold.

The sky has lost its brilliance, and it is so sad.

The air is thick with sorrow and grief.

 

Although you are not here, you are still around,

your scent on the pillow surrounds me,

your picture in the wooden frame on the wall,

a constant reminder.

You are in my heart and always will be.

 

Tomorrow is the day I should say goodbye,

throw a handful of sand on your casket

to signify the end.

I am not sure if I can do it,

because how can you say, ''goodbye my love''

when I love you so much and it hurts.

 

From the open wardrobe, the black dress is looking at me

Those black slippers do not match my colorful outfits.

A black hat with a veil sits in a box in the center of the table -

Black does not suit you or me ...

we always loved pastel colors, do you remember?

 

Longing For The Stars

 

Once, God traveled the Universe, on the back of a comet.

He passed swarms of stars and nebulae, gray shapeless planets. Meteors rushing to destruction, spinning debris building up a new star or a moon. Hot and cold suns, moons, and black holes, until in this swarm of impassive nothingness, God saw the Earth and fell in love with it.

He sat on the edge of the blue ocean, He squinted his eyes at the Sun and saw under the closed lids how a man is born on Earth.

 

And He gave man authority over the Earth, over animals and plants. And God sent Angels down among the people and taught them how to sow, how to build houses. How to set the fire, how to hunt, how to heal wounds after the fight.

 

God only asked people to take care of their land, their home, because there is no other like this in the entire Universe.

Sadly people became greedy, and they did not care for their homeland as promised. They robbed the Earth of its riches, cut down forests, and killed animals not for food but for their fun.

 

People didn't know why but had always missed the stars, so they built rockets to reach them. From the height of the sky, they saw how they ravaged Mother Earth. And they searched for God up in the sky but did not meet him. God, however, looked at them with fear.

 

And for the Earth, the last day had come when the mindless, resembling man pressed the red button, and the Earth exploded into millions of pieces. The moon flew far into space, and people returned to the stars as the stardust.

 

People could still look at the stars with longing and admiration, however, they decided to choose to wreak havoc to reach them.

 

BOZENA HELENA MAZUR-NOWAK

 

BOZENA HELENA MAZUR-NOWAK was born in Opole, Poland. In

June 2004, she decided to emigrate and left for Great Britain, where she still lives. The longing for her birth country intensified her need to write. For many years she wrote, "into the drawer". She published 19 collections of poetry, four in Polish, and the rest in international translations. Proud holder of many international awards and prizes, including the multiple Doctor Honoris Casa. Despite nearly twenty years abroad, she has not accepted foreign citizenship. In his biography, he proudly emphasizes his Polishness and Opole as the city of birth. The author's poems have been presented on Australian, Canadian, and Spanish radio. Bozena Helena Mazur-Nowak is invited to participate in international poetry festivals worldwide. She is very happy that her poetry and prose are understandable and appreciated by readers without Polish roots.

 


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