ALICJA KUBERSKA
THE CHAT
I knocked at your mind.
Let me in - I asked
I have brought you something,
My
crazy thoughts and dreams,
The works collected from
The sources of creativity.
Look how pretty they are,
Even the smallest ones…
Smaller than grains of sand.
I do not want them - you answered
My world is sterile,
Arranged and known.
Your every written poem
Can ruin my calm,
Which was built over years.
The recognition can be painful
Because of its insolence and
ignorance.
The questions wake up the sleeping
fears.
I prefer to stay safely in
Well - known loneliness
CONVERSION
It is a pity that I cannot buy a
new soul.
In supermarkets, there are no
special offers
- New Soul! On sale!
The old one is dysfunctional.
It is much easier to have a simple
vision of the world.
Keep your feet on the ground and
don’t have dreams.
Being greedy protects the heart.
Life has a physical dimension.
Ideals hurt.
Gain a prominent place in the rat
race,
Dispose of sentiments, tears.
My soul is able to forgive.
It cannot learn to trust again.
It says it does not enter the same
river twice.
Unreasonable? Perhaps.
It does not listen to reason.
It pulls away from people
IT IS SHE
We pass each other nearly every
day,
Distance of fear between us.
Life forces us to mutual disregard
and acceptance.
At times, like an unruly child, she
will spoil something,
To garner attention, to arrest with
a gesture.
I see her in the wind, which
carelessly
Turns over the withering leaves
And standing proudly erect in stalks
stiffened by frost.
She paints shriveled trees gray,
breaks limbs with a crack.
She is mute in the clenched throats
of birds,
She stares with glassy eyes.
She is all-around and she reminds
us of her presence.
She patiently explains the meaning
of certainty.
I know she does not allow us to
take anything,
When she plays the requiem and
invites eternal sleep
ALICJA KUBERSKA
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