Saturday, July 1, 2017




Shroud of life
are your paths
in your Earthly endeavors
with all their shine
and associated shadows.

Shroud of love
is that first eye contact
that is like enchanted wand
followed by lifelong magics
of both of you in arms.

Shroud of you
is the density of air
you are breathing in
and painting
with inspiration.

Shroud of you
are all the little things
in your life
ultimately proving to be
the big ones.

Shroud of you
are choreographic stages
of your own life
with a credo now or never.

Shroud of you
is your ultimate consciousness
you, the reflexion of God
across the multiverse
forever and ever!


Beautiful birds, my gentle whisperers
on all the Earthly meadows
and my own meadows
in my heart
how I tribute you!

O’ white-chested emeralds, rainbow lorikeets
shoe-billed storks, blue-chinned sapphires
my beloved, gentle whisperers!

O’ white-tailed tropicbirds, Indian peafowls
golden-backed weavers, American flamingoes
my sweet, tranquil whisperers!

O’ ruby-topaz hummingbirds, house sparrows
southern cassowaries, restless flycatchers
the nature’s finest, noble whisperers!

Yet believe it or not
there is one special whisperer
in my Earthly life
you, my Anne!

In the mornings shrouded by mist
you are there!

In the afternoons shrouded by Sun
you are there!

In the evenings shrouded by twilight
you are there!

In the nights shrouded by eroticism
you are there!

Always there, O’ Anne
on the meadows of my life
you, the very special whisperer!

What else can I say, O’Anne
as just thank you
for you are it all
you, my only love
my beauteous whisperer!


Dimensions of the mind
bewilder us
from time to time.

Although we are able
to set up our minds
the way as we wish
never be too sure!

When you meet the one
who is the mirror
of your very dreams
the modes of your mind
switch to those starry paths
of your inner universe
you were never in as yet.

It is the shroud of love
intense and ultimate
You are in love!

Shroud of love
in the mist
engulfing you
to be discovered
as yet.

The fields
you are not sure
whether they are ground
or cosmic nothingness
It needs yet
to be discovered.

Yet your mind
is overwhelmed!

Nothing can
separate you
from the grip
of that something special
bonding you
to someone else.

As if you both
were starships
to be together
on the vast
cosmic tides
of your minds.

Aside from love
sure, there are many levels
of differentiated personality
on the situation.

Not that you have
some number
of personalities
Your mind simply switches
from mode to mode.

Even love
can be abandoned
if your lover failed you
You are back
by your sheer will
in your independence mode.

You have the power
for you are a human!

Life is the stage
of never ending discoveries
time after time
the musical symphony
in all your paths.

O’ shroud of love
O’ shroud of life
guide us
across the universes
of our own minds!


Shroud of love
is you, my goddess
The ecstasy
of my heart
the elixir of my life
dawn of eternal hope.

Shroud of love
is our spring, my honey
We are engaged
in the gusts
of feelings, eroticism
up to the blue vault
of the skies.

Sex bosons
are our kingdom!

Shroud of love
is our summer, my sweetheart
We are already married
and our flaming minds
are home we have.

The ardor of love
is still consuming us

Shroud of love
is our autumn, my darling
Our family nest
is welcoming new children.

Everything is
on a good track
Divine care
favoring us.

Shroud of love
is our winter, my dearest
Meritorious old age
closes our Earthly life.

We are still listening
to the melody of life
ready to welcome Our Lord.

Shroud of love
is our whole life
your heart and my soul
your soul and my heart.

Shroud of love
is the weave
of our passions
and mutual devotion
forever and ever, amen.


Flowing is your beauty
in the noble wind
displaying bosons
gifted to you by the Lord
my dear passions’ whisperer.

Your gentleness is the air
that I breathe in
with the touch of a wizard
magical one
my dear passions’ whisperer.

Your feminine subtlety
are the souls I can feel
in the worlds
of otherworldly dimensions
swirling around us
and within us
my dear passions’ whisperer.

Look at you, look at I
how we are
expressing our love
Pure art!

As if the world
became the Universe
on the wings of the tides
never ending!

As if our hearts
were the noblest homes
there are
in the entire celestial worlds!

As if you and I
were one only wholeness
never ever to be separated
to the tunes of harps and violins!

As if we were it all
poets of starry rays
painters of our passions
choreographers of our very lives!

Shape of you
sweetly enslaves me
The paradise passionfruit!

Giving me a million of reasons
to stay in the womb
of our love!

Playing music of divinity
one of endless notes of sparks
Being my deja vu!

O’ my passions’ whisperer
song of all songs!

O’ my passions’ whisperer
symphony of all symphonies!

O’ my passions’ whisperer
goddess of all passions
shroud of love!


A poet known as a society healer
stood alongside a shiny pond
with hands extended
to the ocean tides
The charismatic man
and though
there was something in the air!

‘My life is nothing worth
without you, believe me
O’ Anne, my angel with the harp!’

His silent whisperings
flowed with the wind
and were then carried
by the ocean tides.

‘For I love you! I love you...’
The echoes brought yet away
one more whispering.

The poet sat on the bench
in NYC Central Park
with view of Manhattan
so splendid
that taking his breath away.

‘Have you got my message
O’ Anne, my angel with the harp?
I can’t live so anymore
solitary breaks my soul!’

His enigmatic whisperings
flew further with the wind
and enwrapped Manhattan
with the poet’s magic spell.

‘For my heart is yours!’
Also this time
the echoes brought away
one more whispering.

The poet flew on a passenger plane
bringing him to Kathmandu
Himalayas were already seen
in all their divine splendor.

‘Anne, my angel with the harp
yet an hour or so
and we shall greet each other
separated no more.’

This time his whisperings
competed with the speed
of the supersonic plane
Their imaginary echoes
were faster than anything.

At the Kathmandu airport
nobody waited for the poet
He sat sad in the passenger’s hall
intently listening to alien whisperings
that bombarded him from all sides.

‘These voices are not mine!’
Innerly he lamented
But the maddening whisperings
circled around him
They, the shadow hunters!

‘You are too late, O’ poet
for the deadly earthquake
brought harvest of death
Your angel with the harp
is there not anymore.’

The healer was he no more
but a broken man
The whisperings
with tragic news
flew in the meantime away
all the way
to inaccessible Himalayas.

Echoes of the whisperings
rumbled in the poet’s ears
The loss was definitely
too much for him
and so his very life
took wings to itself
and let him fly
to his beloved angel with the harp.

The villagers in Nepal
swore they heard melodies
from a magical harp
It must have been Anne
the poet's angel with the harp!


THADDEUS HUTYRA (known also as Tadeusz Hutyra) was born in Poland where he attended schools and begun to study at the prestigious Jagiellonian University of Cracow.  Shortly before the emergency state announced by the communist regime on 13th of December 1989 he left Poland in search of a better life abroad. Primarily he intended to emigrate to the United States of America, the goal he was never fortunate to fulfill. Instead he found himself in New Zealand where he lived 5 years and afterwards he had a brief period of travelling across some Asian and European countries, he lived for a while in China and Hong Kong before finally settling down in Belgium. He considers himself a citizen of the world but a dream still remains to visit the USA and also enjoy travelling to a few other countries, especially India and Nepal. His mother language is Polish, but mostly he uses English and Dutch in every day life, he knows also Russian language. He has already published some books on Amazon, mostly poems written in English.  In addition to it he is active on social media, especially on Facebook and Twitter. He is admin of a number of poetry groups in Facebook. He also published two join poetry books in Poland as well as his own prose books, also in Poland.

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