The way you hold yourself
With beauty and kindness
While wrapping carefully
Tourists’ gifts,
The way your presence
Warmly sparkles
In your gentle artistry
With poetry and precision…
You are a gem in the heart of this
Fairytale town
A Princess in disguise,
Concealing her nobility
While serving people.
The space between me and the world
Is midnight blue,
Filled with small threads of ifs
That keep me hanging
While I know they’ll never translate
Into a real poem…
The hurricane of my feelings,
Quiet, calm, is folded within
Its inward destination.
And my desires, in line, one by one
Dried flowers I can’t retain
While I stain the paper of ink and stars,
And tears, and years…
But all I want, all I scream for
Is that tiny piece of pencil
Leftover of my days
Soft, blendable, erasable
Over my timelines.
So easily we shake off
Our feelings after closing our closets,
So much dust to get rid of,
The debris of what it has been,
Being it beautiful or beautifully sad.
So eagerly we try to move on,
Invested in our pride
Unaware of the very whispers of our
Own destiny.
We are all floating at the verge
Of our narratives,
Twirling rapidly over the loop of life…
Until we stumble vulnerably
Upon the stairs of eternity:
There, we have no choice
But reverently bow.
I caught somebody’s shadow
On my way to the shopping centre
Their smell was filling the road ahead of me.
Their presence stayed,
Solid in the sunshine
Silent and unapologetic
Free of any stanza of regrets.
Impermanent yet vivid,
Stealthy and steady,
So alive I could see their story through.
Standing in front of the land
Half excavated and roaring,
While the soil is exhaling a song
Of reparation,
A soothing lullaby of peace and restoration.
Mother Earth is calling me
From the depths of its foundation,
From the lightness of a leaf,
From trees pregnant of flowers,
Springing spring into my veins,
Screaming my name so strongly…
So longly I have been craving to
Belong
And now I do,
While flying
Deep underground.
The road was stormy,
As much as my mind,
Preoccupied to be late for my appointment.
And I was stumbling in red lights,
One after another,
No breaks, no openings,
While slow cars were catwalking
In front of me.
I almost gave up,
On my destination
On the hope of being understood
By the very people who should take care of us.
But you stayed, waiting for me
Until I finished my tour,
And shared my anxiety
One Road junction at a time.
Suddenly I felt again
What it feels to be human
Vulnerable and held,
By a newly encountered human,
In this busy, stormy itinerary
Of this strange taxi adventure!
To my taxi driver, Mo
I met you flying
Your eyes were all smiles
Which kept looking at me
With grace and magic.
We sat in each other’s presence
One in front of another
Two passer-by passengers
Not saying a word
Until the end.
We then broke the silence.
With a brief introduction
Which was a long goodbye,
Yet it felt good to hear your voice,
After I felt you.
We’re left nameless
To each other
Yet I hope I’ll stay
Stuck in your sonder
As much as you’re in mine.
To the flight assistant who made my journey brighter
Warsaw is a mermaid
Swimming in the snow,
Where the dances warm you up
From the cold.
A place of corners and concrete,
Large roads and little houses,
Mysteriously meshed in the music of Chopin.
The churches are stoic,
They stand their ground
Despite the shaking winter,
Warm refuges of Pelegrín tourists.
And she knows how to
Feed hungry people,
Satiating body and souls
With joyful food and extravagant festivals.
There is a sailor hidden in these
Corners,
I’ll never meet again,
Eyes impossible to navigate
And even more unreachable soul.
I sang my song to him once,
And this time I kissed him
Goodbye
From far away,
Like a dream that fades away.
Yet, Warsaw stays,
Intact in its meaning
Still swimming
Strong, independent, and solitary
In my soul.
The smell of bread
Covers the smell of rain
Over the road,
My healing wound,
And passerbys,
On my way back home.
Winter impressions,
Drafted in a water-coloured sky…
You’ll never know why
Every life has seasons,
And reasons
To inhabit them.
And I return you your pathos,
Filled with fake poetry, and
AI generated tears.
Two days before Christmas,
Like you don’t care
The impact
Of your honey glazed lies.
I’m just a kid, sweating my realness
Over your odourless last farewell.
My life has been almost a prayer
To deeply meet depth
To overcome death
In this life with living blood
And beauty.
The flavour of what matters
Is a scary elixir
To those who can’t speak
My language.
Time machine 