BARBARA MAZURKIEWICZ

BARBARA MAZURKIEWICZ

TOUCH OF SPRING

You sprout more clearly in my memory.

I look for inconceivable images and patterns;

an agreement with the breath of the spring.

You reserve time for a meeting, a touch

and the bare body of a woman.

In my eyes you will find naive butterflies

lured by the color of the sky.

What has fallen asleep begins to wake up.

How can one talk about drenched shoes

when water spills with a surface of captivation

— faint dreams of the mists become a realisation.

With a quiet return

we will find ourselves in the wonderland.

TRANSLATION:ARTUR KOMOTER

© Barbara Mazurkiewicz,

ON THE EASELS OF ONE DAY

Paint me, by the slippery pales of the roadstead,

where damsels mature like cinnamon.

There, I will let myself be lost to the end

under the domes of the shacks in the clangs

of the bracelets of the shamans administering the heavenly nectars.

Let there be a day that is late to turn in,

light and wind nudging with the leaf of the palms.

Paint me white birds, thrown in by an airy stroke.

warm up with a palette of colors the golden sand and the azure

of the horizon suspended by the smell of cocoa.

And I will take off my robes to ignite another land,

we will run towards the dawn until blood begins to boil.

TRANSLATION:ARTUR KOMOTER

© Barbara Mazurkiewicz,

ON TWO BANKS

My heart dies on every envelope.

Kisses are red on the letters.

Longing has two pairs of eyes -

we are looking for a distance.

Wait, if I'm not ready -

I'll just finish my coffee and write another one,

and then I will go to the rain -

You will not see tears at all.

It's awkward when I talk

about love as about bread, and you somewhere

there you collect the remains of the lost ...

It is a pity for each crumb.

© Barbara Mazurkiewicz

BARBARA MAZURKIEWICZ