ALICJA
KUBERSKA
FAMILIAL REUNIONS
we
arrive in our childhood home
my
sisters-nomadic Swallows
return
each year to the familial nest
they
pay no heed to the difficulties of a far journey
we
reminisce
until
the hour of lilac clouds
swathed
in the green cool of the Linden tree
and
honeyed scent of flowers
the
wind strumming the branches
and
the curious sun
peeking
through the canopy of the enormous tree
listen
to the conversations
we
know that we must part in the fall
I
will find shelter in a distant city
black-and-white
birds will go south
they
will slash another azure sky
several
months will pass
the
sun will draw trails in the sky
it
will offer strength to spreading wings
it
will send an invitation to return
we
will meet again
we
will survive successive troubles
strengthened
by the energy of the place
in
which everything begun
THE HOUSE OF MY CHILDHOOD
In my house strangers live.
They erase the traces of the former
owners.
They settle down and they believe
that they will stay forever.
They want to become part of the
landscape.
I see the changes.
The view from the window passed.
After a spreading lime tree only a dry
stump remained
like a decayed scar.
Bee choirs in the yellow brilliance of
flowers trailed off.
The wind dispersed the scent of the May
lilacs.
The white phlox disappeared from the
garden.
The walls are bare, the bricks blush.
The grapevine does not peep through the
windows.
It won't offer its sweet berries full
of syrupy juice
on the green leaves.
In different colours the walls blossom,
a new door has been fixed,
Only the time locked in the oak floor
creaks the same.
BAREFOOT ON
THE STUBBLE
I
walk barefoot on the stubble.
I turn back time.
Again, I'm a girl with blond braids.
I weave camomiles and cornflowers into my hair.
I know how to place my feet,
so
as not hurt them with the sharp thorns .
I walked far.
My heels pierced the ground, the doubts of my mind.
I lost my trust of a child, and my confidence of being.
I do not know what happened to
My
faith in humanity and my good fortune.
I return from memories.
I look for relief in the song of larks.
Can I find the forgotten dreams?
Regain a slice of the lost paradise?
Somewhere, in the stubble lies the old "I" .
HOLIDAY PICTURE
Pixels
like the grains of sand petrified, they stopped time.
You wave your hand and try to smile to the lens,
but we both know that you will never be older.
Wild wind let the thoughts soar to the
sky,
they touched the bloody sunset over the sea.
The foamed waves blurred the traces of
bare feet with fury.
How strange, I do not remember much of those moments.
I jumped deliberately into oblivion as into the abyss.
Death by forgetfulness allows me to continue living.
The sorrow for the past is hidden in the album
of unfashionable black and white photos.
The memory of happiness is imprisoned in the frame.
THE TRAIN
I
got onto the train of life
With
nothing,
Without
clothes,
Without feelings.
A
blank sheet of paper.
Blotting-paper
absorbing everything.
I
will get out burdened with bundles of
Recollections
and impressions.
I
packed them carefully.
Some
of them faded, like
Ink
from old letters.
I
tied them with ribbons of all colors.
These
white ones are my
Inessential
remembrances
And
black ones are heavy and traumatic.
I
met many passengers,
Throughout this long journey
And
free-riders too,
Who
were picked up
At
different stops.
Each
meeting,
Even
this, the shortest one,
Like
a flash of sun or
Flutter
of butterfly wings
Enriched
and filled my bag of experiences
I
no longer have a nest here
But I come back, like a swallow,
To places of my childhood.
I wander the sandy hedgerows,
To participate in the mystery of lark song.
I arrange bouquets
Of wild poppies and cornflowers -
And raise up to the clouds.
Old trees, to which I confided my secrets,
Still
grow,
Tart, wild cherries
And sweet-scented linden
As once -
I divine the world in the mirror of the lake.
I listen to the waves and the wind.
Apparently nothing has changed.
Only the cemetery hill,
Like a diary of life,
Is ever more clear
I
walk along the streets of the town,
Which I once loved.
Today, I am an indifferent stranger.
I barely recognize it.
There are no more old, hospitable aunts.
No more nosy neighbors hidden behind curtains,
Or brave men with war stories.
They are gone.
Time changed everything,
Not only the people, houses, streets and trees.
It seems to me that it even
Repainted the shade of the sky
It
seems to me,
I
know her from somewhere.
The familiar eyes
look at me.
A smile lights
up her face.
She holds a
diploma in hand
And believes that she can easily
Change a man and
the world.
Naive girl.
Young mother
Matured with love.
Secrets of the
night were to
be
The happiness of days.
Power suited business woman
Sells her soul for pennies
And
is screwed by corporations.
One day she will wake
up.
Time is merciful
It
steals moments from
memory
Leaving
only small
fragments
And whispers of her behind
ALICJA KUBERSKA
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