Bezpłatny fragment - Prelude to Freedom

I Become a Mirage

Your name resounds

in the distant sky.

Time, begun almost unwittingly,

seeks the meaning of life — among tears,

at the border

between sorrow

and freedom.

I heard, somewhere along the way,

your prayer—

stripped of ornate epithets.

I walked straight, along the roadside

I had chosen,

though the dream was far too distant.

I try to understand your distaste—

a silence so extravagant

that the future might deserve

a memory.

I become a mirage — sprinkle me

with a grain of tenderness.

It is time to take pity

on the wrong choice—

a penance I know too well.

Cover me with breath—

warm enough to bring back

sleeplessness, a heart out of place.

Roadside Desire

I hear myself upon your lips.

I feel a godless dream

flooding through me.

My tears form a mosaic,

building a future it is hard

to embrace.

Kisses leave silence

upon your bare skin—

the sky is pale

as an evening farewell.

I create a calm that soothes

the fiercest fear.

I long to paint you a dawn—

clothed in touch, so close

to the border

beyond which distance is no more,

and reality does not lurk.

I am a roadside

desire,

a force one cannot leave.

I will create for you a separate chapter—

to close the day.

Help me deceive my thoughts.

Help me understand why I so love

what brings fear and sorrow.

Between Fear and Hope

I walked on, though the happiness here

did not wish to see me.

I understood well the distance

that tore you from me.

I was a timid

creature—

beyond your expectations.

Dreams rhymed despite decisions—

for sorrow I could

do anything.

Today? Today I seek only

fertile melancholy. I seek applause

for dreams I will not find.

Perhaps I will cross

that fragile line

between fear and hope—

and find you in the arms of God.

The last thought will fade, a word

will stall halfway.

I will name you my memory—

so near to fulfillment,

so well known to the future.

An Hour of Silence

I shall go where thoughts outweigh words.

I shall walk to the faded border

between humility and meaning,

that the future may grow gentler,

surrendered to evil.

I will not beg for heaven—

a few mute breaths will suffice.

I will skip this chapter—

let reality take hold of the heart.

I will rise, awaken from this force—

let time promise too much.

Your presence

will make me vulnerable to sorrow.

Closeness, forsaken

forever, will punish me with an hour of silence.

I will build you a paradise — its foundation

your tears.

I will not complain of illusions.

I will not live so as to please

your lie.

Perhaps fear will cause dreams to wither,

and the autobiography prove

a hack’s fairytale,

a schizophrenic’s tale.

The Flesh of Morning

Perhaps your story will become

the enemy of reality.

Perhaps the light, conceived in blindness,

will turn into a fertile tear.

I will not complain of evil—

love knows the way.

I will strip you of the remnants of passion,

rob you of the glow that brightens the senses.

I would tame desire,

soothe longing—

the world is made

of mismatched fragments.

Life will teach me silence,

when all are shouting. Death will show

the road back.

I will dream despite the kindest wishes.

I will close the window behind me—

loneliness will prove the best excuse.

I will bear for you

a private shard of tomorrow; I will conceive tears

to be the mantra of the resurrected.

I will not teach you to love the world.

I can only sip the flesh of morning,

savor the sweet-and-sour dream.

Only in Dreams

Will you allow thoughts to heal?

Will you consent that I remain silent,

too passionately to set hope free?

Countless glances swirl within me—

the body is out of reach.

I will not create a private hell for you—

I know only the road to loneliness.

Perhaps I will sleep, so you may understand

how powerful is this night, this darkness

I cannot capture.

Still, I play at being grown—

childhood has left behind

a bedtime fairytale.

Imprisoned in my own tear,

too bare, I curl

into your heart, into pain, so that the cry is warmer.

The senses do not allow dying

of longing — even rash

decisions sometimes cast their shadow on tomorrow.

I will close my lips behind me, let time

be a bitter affliction.

I may return to you only in dreams.

From School Lessons

from time to time a ballad blooms

torn from eternity

it happens that night desires a heart

it is the final vow

I cover myself with you

a blanket woven from virgin dawn

a dream unworthy

of solitude

perhaps I will create a world for you

the opposite of what you know

from school lessons

I will arrive on command

swifter than silence chasing its own thoughts

perhaps I will become a parable

no one will read

I shall shine

like the moon accused of theft

I battle the future

the margin draws closer

I feel twilight growing inside me

thrown to the feast of memory

shameless are your tears

within has hatched a penance

that no reckoning will bribe

It Grew Bitter

sometimes it happens that sleep is

an ally of night

it happens

I vanish though your song calls me

the bells toll

there is no compassion for the past

even dreams sank

mid-sentence

I took pity on the sky

I waited for such a fertile morning

stripped of the remnants of innocence

I slammed behind me

the doors to hell

time grows ever more impetuous

melancholy encountered

the first spring rain

the past grew bitter

I spread my hands

I grasp

what remains of heaven

one day you will understand

life does not always change

through accidents

even freedom seems deaf and mute

it is but the seed of a tear

a confession without penance

Scraps of Love

my thoughts stumble, I count hollow words

they were meant to be victory

somewhere along the way

I lost the last grain

curiosity proved stronger

someday

time will turn back, tears will lose their strength

I will sink into tomorrow

into those scraps of love

that will uncover truth

day by day the future rolls on

withered, as if already consumed

I fought for a heart

for dreams

that suit me so well

I grow accustomed

to longing

to desires dying in secret

reality is a dream

I must confess

I feel a life sentence within me

one I did not expect

perhaps tears will overtake me

perhaps silence will leave

everything enclosed

crowned with a barren ending

To Give Meaning

I lose myself against my will.

I search for meanings that will give tomorrow sense.

An ally is the light

feared not even by the immortal.

The body, so like a dream,

fights with truth.

I have fallen in love with my own solitude.

I have drowned in a soul

that knows no road back.

Come, my little spark—

shine like the missing piece of the future.

I bathe in the boundless—

tears are pliant to pain.

Will thoughts return with distance,

the kind best left unspoken?

A wound, though shallow, refuses

to become memory.

Harm wrought by desire

is the only sunrise in these lands.

Warmth, ever warmer — penance spreads.

Perhaps mercy will grant me my true name.

Pulp of Morning

Perhaps your story will turn out

to be an enemy of reality.

Perhaps the light, conceived in the dark,

will become a fertile tear.

I shall not complain of evil—

love knows the way.

I will strip you of the remnants of passion,

rob you of the glow that brightens the senses.

I would like to tame desire,

soothe longing—

the world is made

of mismatched fragments.

Life will teach me silence

while all others scream.

Death will point

the way back.

I will dream despite the finest wishes.

I will close the window behind me—

loneliness will prove the best excuse.

I shall beget for you

a private scrap of tomorrow; I will conceive tears

so they may be a mantra of the resurrected.

I will not teach you to love the world.

I can only drink the pulp of morning,

savor the bittersweet dream.

Only in a Dream

Will you let the thoughts

scar over?

Will you agree that I keep silent,

too passionately to release hope?

Countless glances stir within me—

the body lies out of reach.

I shall not create a separate hell for you—

I know only the road to loneliness.

Perhaps I will sleep so you may understand

how powerful is this night, this darkness

I cannot capture.

I still play at being grown—

all that remains of childhood

is the memory of a bedtime tale.

Imprisoned in my own tear,

too bare, I press myself

into your heart, into pain,

so that the cry may be warmer.

The senses will not let me die

in longing — even reckless

choices sometimes shape the future.

I will close my lips behind me, let time

be the bitter affliction.

I can return to you only in a dream.

Abandoned Morning

I can dream only of you. Of the stars

I carelessly left for you.

I can dream only of a thought

dressed in mourning’s shroud of words.

I do not wish to end

those years — time gnaws at the soul.

I cannot host you still

in every dream — tears fuel the wounds.

Among memories

I found the one where the future

belongs to me.

I paid for the hours

with the firm strike of a heart,

with a prayer that knows no addressee.

I grew homesick for tomorrow — I know

I shall not find it. Forever I will remember

the shape of longing,

the map of your dreams.

Sorrow will be my guide,

a guardian who will never promise

the sun, nor shield me

from the abandoned morning.

Mystery

I was granted the grace to believe in heaven.

To understand the paths of stars,

the ballads of angelic hosts.

I walked from shadow to shadow,

yet never dreamt of light.

You know, I was in love with loneliness—

it lingered nearby,

within reach of the heart.

Memories whispered

into my ear—

there are millions of stars,

yet the most wondrous is the chosen one.

A tear slips away,

becoming an unknown mystery.

The longing for a kiss ignites,

painful in its beauty.

One cannot swear an oath while life walks

relentlessly — one cannot sleep

before fear

knocks upon the window.

I will feed you a sigh,

offer a touch so fertile you’ll fall silent

mid-thought.

Times will come when the future

exists only as memory—

I will learn to dream so deeply

that falsehood will meet its end,

and desire turn to ashes.

A Smile and a Tear

I sold myself for an unbearably low price.

They stripped me of everything

that once foretold hope—

not a single frail

breath remained.

Bodies touched, there was no boundary

between life

and what was yet to come — everything

remained unfinished,

like a merciful lie.

I could no longer believe

alone; night contrasted with the dream.

I beg for remorse,

so I might find the starved expectancy,

feed upon time,

understand the unrest within the soul.

I fell in love with imagination—

I stand at the threshold of a private hell.

Soon I will return and discover

the unity between a smile and a tear,

between closeness and penance.

I will understand death — strangely,

it still has green eyes, the same smile.

Fertile Nostalgia

I long to free you from the past.

I long to strip you of the dream

that repeats too often.

Everything leads back

to love — to its embodied fear,

to the awe

from which escape is so hard.

I still lack scruples — hope seeks

another shortcut.

I wish to share with you

a promise — that the body I carry

may become

a bloodless memory.

Will you let me taste the sun,

so eager to greet our tears?

Will you allow

its breath to fill me,

the harvest of togetherness I stubbornly crave?

It is high time to confess

to happiness — that enchanted

in joined hearts, close enough

to entrust it with uncertainty.

Somewhere inside, a star abides,

fed by hunger,

sold for a handful of fertile nostalgia.

Searching for Your Shadow

I have lost faith in the nearest sense.

I have collapsed within myself,

groping in the dark

for your shadow.

Nothing matters but the fear

planted by a sorrowful hand.

I approach with the speed

dictated by loneliness.

I am right beside you, in love

with your future.

Perhaps one day I will touch

your dreams — they will be too obvious,

too tender to wounds.

I do not trust passion—

as always, it seeks the wrong paths.

Unhappy are the steps

that still lead

toward your sun.

Senses soaked in fear

refuse to be captured.

Tomorrow night I will understand

what dreams are capable of.

I will understand why it is so hard

to flee illusion; the melancholy

where your blood flows.

I Brewed Coffee

You entered my heart

without taking off your shoes.

You settled in comfortably,

though I wasn’t entirely sure

I deserved it.

The shadow of your sorrow

caught me off guard; I felt

it once belonged to me.

I brewed coffee — black

as the first night.

I held in my hands all the happiness—

you entrusted me with tomorrow’s dream,

with a life line

cut halfway.

My heart leaned out the window—

it understood that we suffer

from a shortage of silence.

I move carefully,

so as not to bump into the future;

each day draws us nearer to the verdict.

Desire clashes so painfully

with my whisper.

The future, resurrected from tears,

will turn into breath that feeds the lungs,

that soothes the emptiness

left by a kiss.

Insomnia Is Contagious

I sweep your tears

from my soul.

I rejoice in the lightness

of dreams my heart keeps time with.

Thoughts slip between

your words — I know

illusions arrive

at a fixed hour.

Fingerprints tangled

in my hair—

a cry still travels

through crowded archipelagos.

I half-close my heart,

my body climbs the highest breath;

senses collide with a dream

that receives no mercy.

Morning flares,

as always deceitful,

from another spacetime.

Silence undresses me from the remnants of shame—

insomnia is contagious.

I shut myself from life

behind a curtain of tears;

I avoid passion which — sealed away—

can offer nothing but fear.

Regardless of Age

There are hearts too narrow

to hold even love.

There are souls

where melancholy hides,

pliant to silence.

Loneliness has brought

good tidings: the future

will begin at the same hour.

Peace will remain within me,

never to triumph over the petrified fire.

A lonely morning will turn

into a promise — that what is unreachable

still completes our dreams.

Will I find a little space

in your arms?

Must that which curses the past

become another repeated melody?

One day our twin poles

will meet;

pride will seize us so fiercely

that time will choke

on its own breath.

Helplessness will come — chaotic

as a fulfilled dream.

Sweet are the desires

I have committed, regardless of age.

Heaven Ceased to Exist

There are minds untouched

by a single living thought.

There are consciences your hand

could never tame.

My body brushed, by accident,

against the trajectory of your heart.

Truth, told

too fervently,

bears a soul stolen from deceit.

Night returns despite the dread,

shaking off

the last of the stars.

A bittersweet darkness reigns,

nurturing memories.

You have become a wanderer,

who knows not his own name.

You drift from wall to wall, enchanted

by the hardship of this road.

I will seek innocence

within the stanzas. I will find honesty

where heaven ceased to exist.

Radiant, pliant

to warm-blooded touch, I delight

in your light, your faith

in what will never come.

The Same Farewells

I dreamed you into being, in the likeness of light.

In you I saw the void

that rebels against victory.

A tear rested on my lash,

the last of this winter. My body

turned into a story

I cannot comprehend.

Scraps of shadow scattered

by the doorway foretell the hour

that will sound its final chord.

Today’s sun

is too heavy to rise.

The moon, though dedicated

to someone else, quarrels with the dark.

I cannot dream in such a way

that fear becomes a signpost.

You know, one day I’ll hold

your tear in my hands — so crimson

as the first kiss.

Faith will kneel at the threshold,

glances will scatter into the vastness.

There will be no more farewells alike,

no mirrored promises.

Tomorrow has made me fall in love—

devoured by storm clouds,

condemned to a lifetime.

Life Line

There’s so much love here.

It makes its home

in the corner of the heart,

lurks behind every turn,

awaiting its moment of fulfillment.

This love is sweet and sour—

just like your wanton skin.

Loneliness is never by chance—

it happens when the senses

grow too salty.

I am a paradise to which

I invite faith.

One cannot learn silence—

it’s harder

to keep from screaming.

I appear to you like a guardian

whose wings have been broken.

I stopped not far from your house—

this place teems with colored visions.

Autobiography is a broken chance—

a lifeline

on which I tread unsteadily.

It Will Never Come

Your footsteps are sad on the road to nowhere.

Sad are the glances cast

into a sleepless heart.

The sky splits in two—

I cannot take the shortcut path.

Tonight I hang

stars for you — each with its own story.

My dreams still seek repentance—

I sink into you

only to leave forever.

There’s a trace of pride in me—

something like a tomorrow

that stayed away too long.

A tear races a tear — I don’t know

how long I’ll keep chasing loneliness.

All it takes is a clenched fist of the heart,

a soul drying on the line — I will shed

the fears that wound life.

I’ll awaken on the right side of heaven,

where my angels go to sleep.

I will remain a story of betrayed lips,

a chapter left unfinished.

Yes, a tear meets a tear — longing lies

within reach of the hour that will never come.

Too Many Shadows

I lied when I said my fate

was unworthy of the future.

I deceived when I promised

that the body fights off mourning.

The paths toward

solving the best riddle are very dark;

the streets that lead to the edge of tomorrow,

shadowed and deep.

I cannot believe

in the present — trust costs

too many shadows.

Perhaps twilight will bring us

closer — dressed in a festive dream.

I fear the hour will prove

too long to dream

of returning past the margin.

Time is kind — it helps

to deceive the scars. I stand here alone,

abandoned at the train station—

I know it takes only a few steps

toward the light.

I no longer live in these parts,

these streets knew

my fear too well.

That moment will return, costing

a handful of lovestruck poems.

I’ll find a verse that inflicts silence

greater than sorrow.

A Terrible Dream

It was a dream that brought the purest tears—

tears that doubt their own existence,

tears that beg for sadness,

for melancholy to echo in the heart.

This dream carried more than death,

which slipped in through the back door.

The dream was full of loneliness—

the kind born in the final hour.

Hope wandered into the unknown—

where it could count

on a bit of understanding. Awakening

brought numbness — only illusion,

nothing more.

Now I wait, hidden in my shell,

until dawn is reborn — tender and subtle,

like a first meeting. I no longer believe

in darkness — I feel heaven

close to my heart.

Now I know the future will return — behind it

the stars will tread, constellations

born of eternity.

I’ll leave yesterday as a keepsake—

to remind me that even fate

can be mistaken, that light, too, has a sweet taste.

They Come on Their Own

Naivety is human, they say.

It’s not worth trusting dreams,

though they wish to come true, they say.

Yet I understand one thing: time

has stopped across the river.

Eternity revealed itself as destiny,