Bezpłatny fragment - To Believe in Stars

From a Journey Toward Joy

I will fill you with my heart,

carefully hidden within my chest.

I will teach you that love is no curse,

but eternity.

Next year’s tears will prove mistaken.

I will rise, banish

all imitations of heaven—

hope will settle comfortably

among the thoughts.

I will not save you from longing,

nor free you

from the chains of desire—

let closeness become

a keepsake from a journey toward joy.

Please, dedicate your fear to me.

Promise me silence,

so it may turn into a ballad.

I do not wish to search for you upon the earth.

I do not wish to recall your sorrow.

I know that dreams do not belong to me,

and the future searches

on the wrong side of memory.

At most, I may kiss

your wounds. Swear that I am here,

to become a rock, to shine forth

as a smile upon your face.

I found you on the other side of a tear—

there, where the spring flows

of crystalline silence,

of an unfinished future.

Lifetime Future

Do you hear the radiance of my nostalgia?

Do you feel how a dream becomes

the firstborn wind?

No, I do not wish to believe in you

deliberately; I only long

to show you a sky

you have never known.

I am drawing nearer,

your sweet melancholy calls to me.

You recognize silence

by its cry for help — I am

a song that fits no lips.

My heart,

my sleepless memory!

Can I create for you a world

fragile to wounds?

Can I trade places

with the guardian?

A shadow guards your every step

toward birth.

Please, believe me, my light needs

your solitude.

I nurture the night within me,

I become the lifetime future

I do not deserve.

What We Call Happiness

No. I do not see you.

I hear you, my most precious drowsiness.

I know you are drawing near,

that I fall to my knees — everything

was born too recklessly.

I cry out, yet no one understands

my solitude.

Our shadows collide, our gazes

find one another—

which of these colors

embodies your faith?

I wait, my heart

denies its hope.

Perhaps you will return, perhaps not—

I will raise the sky for you,

so you might trust the existence of the earth.

I strip away the remnants of passion.

Perhaps I will find someone

who will scatter my longings.

Cruelly aches

each step backward — before I sleep,

I will show you the future,

nestled in my heart.

Perhaps I shall kindle the light wrongly,

perhaps I will discover that

which we so awkwardly call happiness.

Life Just in Case

My tears decline through your name.

Joy, offered to the sky,

is born in your smile.

I dare not dream still

against the current of time; I awoke

midway through a sigh.

A body, scattered into thousands of fragments,

clings tightly now to your hands.

Silence, do not deceive my cry;

I still see you, despite

futile thoughts,

needless confessions.

Resurrected from loneliness,

I hand myself over to your longing.

I cover my eyes, I see only

what I myself have created.

I am not interested in life

just in case.

I cannot understand the light

that scatters your bittersweet shadow.

Who Can Tell?

Sorrow tangled itself in my hair,

a tear seeped into my heart.

Dust settled on the shallows,

the body awoke.

I became a prelude

to an ancient parable, where even candles fade,

and the journey draws

to its close.

I gaze upon my fear, reflected

in a teaspoon—

the future turns to pride,

too lush

to put an end to hatred.

Your shadow frolics within me—

the presence of tomorrow soothes uncertainty.

I am too last-year

to feed time with silence,

to appease its call.

My fate suffers from a lack of ovations.

Anger shifts into a smile,

so easily turned to disappointment.

I hide on the margins of eternity—

I know the immortals vanished

long ago.

I trust the sky too deeply,

forgetting about death.

Is it laughter, or is it tears — who can tell?

Pocket-Sized Smile

This evening a sun has risen

within me — it bore your heart,

an unfathomable smile.

Yes, today I encountered words

I had never spoken before.

I stumbled upon thoughts better

kept for later.

I trust the stars that point

the way to your solitude;

I confide in the moon;

let it bring through my window

a kiss gone astray.

I cannot go on dreaming against the wind—

a pinch of bitter soil is enough,

as if gravity suddenly failed.

And though the future presses

against my right side, and the present

has no wish to converse — I shall gleam,

so that dreams may rise again,

and the senses be reborn.

I will gift you my fertile smile—

one you could carry

in your pocket.

I will bring a blue jug

of white melancholies. I’ll leave a keepsake—

a heart searching for its place

in a deserted universe.

Artefact

Do not slip away, my heart. Stay

and bring a draught of light,

the kind the future dreams of.

Find me in an everyday dream—

learn my smile by heart.

Fingers, as trusting as ever,

wander across the map

of your thoughts.

The thunder of life will roar—

I will paint it with colored crayons.

I will turn away for the last time,

let the bell of the past fall silent.

I’ll gaze afar, where one can hear

sweet-and-sour words.

A private heaven will awaken in me,

so I may acquaint myself

with your heart.

Your exclamation mark trades places

with my question mark — will I at last

write the continuation of the story?

Not a single word remains of the past.

Too much has happened,

so why do I keep running?

That is why I follow you,

as though your guardian; at the crossroads I watch

to make sure you reach your goal.

Longing will wither within us, greedy nostalgia

will become an artefact.

Inner Spacetime

Your words fit my body.

Thoughts, conceived in humility,

today recall a fragment of summer.

I wrestle with freedom — silence wears

a different face,

a cry shapes itself to the hand.

The future, omitted in so many books,

is a complaint against eternity.

Scattered into shards of dreams,

unfit for consumption — I am

your loneliness, an unconquered goal.

Nostalgia has pressed me to the wall—

I know how rare it is to encounter

true melancholy.

I repeat the pattern, I resemble

a fait accompli.

Am I desire, a sinful fable

so easy to tame?

Or perhaps a destiny meant to sob

into a pillow every night?

You do not dream tonight, your distance

intimidates me.

I am honored by your return—

will the reflection of faith make

this inner spacetime

something more compelling, something immaculate?

Prologue and Epilogue

Forgotten dreams that arrive

with humility and fear,

are the nourishment for your arms.

Trampled paths, a shattered sky—

I become tenderness,

a kind no one here

can grasp,

can know.

I rid myself of sorrow

at too high a price — I regret it.

I miss the silence with which I once held

long, endless conversations.

The horizon at my heart is strewn

with fragments of love, yet I do not forget:

I still ponder the purity

of your intentions, wondering

if I should return to memory.

I spark rebellion, resist

the urge for something more.

Is this another chance to live again

a sunset?

Or a fleeting doubt

that might make the world less lonely?

I surround myself with your hands,

stubbornly seeking a tear — fate will grant it.

It is time to renounce the past,

which repeats itself only once.

I am nearby, close enough

to trust thoughts without a prologue or epilogue.

At the Earth’s Headrest

Embodied tomorrow, words mismatched—

which heart inflicts the deeper wound?

Paths trodden down

by wanderers’ soles,

roads leading toward stairways

into the past — I erase behind me sighs

that no one mourns.

Time to forget

the stars—

high time to rid myself of the moon,

whose salty glow tickles dreams.

Do not forget to leave, as keepsake,

a prayer — let its words beget

uncouth nights,

lives inscribed by Gallus Anonymous.

It is time to raise a house

of cards, to find that

a double-edged tongue suffices

to leave unhealed wounds

on skin too thin.

I shall leave behind a few

heartfelt stones—

feed your hunger for fortune.

The roadsides, still unwelcoming,

will end at the earth’s headrest,

on the edge of the present — fallen,

imprisoned on the border between life

and salvation.

I Will Find the Stars

I no longer hear the calling of your thoughts.

I cannot grasp the melody played

by your tangled heart.

I uncover in myself unnamed lands—

the purity of illusions

leaves no doubt.

I am not a desire

so easily dismissed.

Or perhaps it is fear that seeks

to cripple the generation to come?

It is sorrowful without your melancholy.

I do not feel the light radiating from your hands.

Tides rising and falling — where is the place

for humankind within them?

The silence is too deep to hear

anything more. The future pains me,

a plagiarized testimony.

I am not your guardian.

And yet I know

where last I saw your tears.

Your smile, ill-fitted,

will remain a memory

that does not pester, does not resist.

I will trade sorrows with you.

I will find the stars you so dearly lack.

Unworthy of Fulfillment

Naïve, humble silence

waits patiently at the bedside

of your cradle.

My future becomes a body

that no one here

desires.

Words I never deserved

roll forth on their own, like tears too heavy.

A spasm of pity embraces the soul,

forces its way into the mind—

there is nothing left but light,

but a timid gaze

straight into life.

I keep trying on

the same cloak, woven from stars

that are no longer needed.

I do not know if dreams are accidental—

if I truly think

neither of you, nor of myself.

Fear, that wretched comforter,

is at most a memory of moments

when happiness lurked around the corner.

And today? Roads collide,

antipodes clash — nothing belongs

to me anymore,

I await nothing further.

My heart has found its own course.

The wind has stopped midway.

Deserted cities are beautiful.

Beautiful are desires

that will never deserve fulfillment.

Is it silence, or fear—

we shall solve this riddle.

I Do Not Belong to People

I send a green wind to bring you silence.

I hand you sweet-and-sour solitude,

so you may grasp the weight of love.

I move farther and farther away

from the emergency exit — grateful are

your words, still worse your thoughts.

Startled desires pile up—

they carry peace, victory,

and a trace of pride.

I would like to admit an error

in the calculations — the future lies

not far from here.

Sad are your dreams. Worse still the truth,

with which falsehood keeps wrestling.

I am not chosen to carry peace

and salvation — I speculate

which of the lights shines louder.

Perhaps the pedestal robs you

of what courage you had left? That immodest tomorrow

pleads for time’s return.

I bend over your past,

offering three tears to bring you fortune.

I do not appeal to this world.

I do not belong among people

I no longer know.

All have departed into an imagined death.

Man from A to Z

Can one simply renounce the morning

that drifts across the skin

like a refined caress?

Is it worth lifting a single grain of time

and glimpsing eternity?

Cultivated sorrow,

though biased, joins with silence,

splits into elements

from which I cannot raise a castle of sand.

I do not wish to awaken in a stolen reality—

loneliness, fear, and happiness turn into

a wellspring of credulous tears.

I arrived here out of season,

everything swept under the rug,

man arranged neatly from A to Z.

The manner in which you write your testament

scatters into subsections,

into purely rhetorical answers—

is it wind, or emptiness that troubles the heart?

I am too greedy to believe

in destiny. Within me breeds

a night woven from the scarlet tears of the moon.

A dream is not enough to resurrect tomorrow.

I lie, though crowded is

the conscience, the soul desolate.

I Will Leave You a Stone

Is what we hear each day

the future,

only too inflamed with passion?

Do we still awaken to the same dream,

to a noiseless dawn,

when the body turns to stone?

Verses stream through me,

a closing line is born,

for which I will write this farewell letter.

Perhaps a pretext will arise,

a reason to begin this confession

from the start.

Painfully fragile is

this first day of autumn.

Cruelly fleeting the dawn,

without which one cannot go on.

Shaped by tears, dedicated

to uneven longing, I feed on fear,

left here by a stranger.

My body suffers, borrowed

from an accidental guest.

I try to tame the lie,

so truth may also have its time.

I spread my heart wide.

I can no longer dream against expectation.

I will leave a stone,

to remind you of me.

I will gift you silence,

a silence you have never known.

Only Life Can Save Us

Sorrow ends with a treacherous line.

Thoughts, crowned with a whisper,

sway in the arms of night.

Fear returns — too narrow, inscribed

as a prayer without an addressee.

Only penance may help; tears

addicted to sleep.

I saw in you a lifelong eternity—

a body turned to ashes,

a soul without a guide.

I steal one last glance into the ether,

I befriend the pain,

so that even it may become an ally.

Do you hear the rustle of senses?

Do you need solace for the future?

I wait too close to desire.

The same reality abandoned me,

left me darkness,

though I am already blind.

I fear the night so deeply,

moonless, passionless.

I count the stars on your cheeks—

warmer than tears.

Only life can save us.

The One You Are Ashamed Of

Your immortality does not frighten me.

Nor discourages the faith in what is

inevitable and vast.

Memories swell — too piercing

to confess the guilt.

My roads of yesterdays lead

between thought and word;

I tend to the kisses

that cannot be undone.

Summer passes me by, autumn presses

beneath the skin — I am the dream

renounced by all.

This is no excuse

to turn away from dreams.

I resolved to visit the future—

what earned me

a handful of God’s tears?

Whence comes so much light in me,

when skin will not let touch through?

I do not want to feed you sorrow—

too much disdain and heartfelt trust

dwell in it.

Allied with chance,

I poison this river, the final thought

hardens into stone.

I am a promise you are ashamed of.

I resemble the wind, abandoned

to the mercy of fate.

It is time — only time, wasted.

Stripped of Dreams

Somewhere on the edge of reality

defeated time awaits me.

On the brink of tomorrow, conceived

in a surge of love,

lurks mutual emptiness,

which we dare not bring

a scrap of life to.

Pages of parables pile within me—

even the future may arrive late.

I would soothe the dawn—

let it sleep until I tire

of longing for what never

had the right to enter.

I remember that night, when the moon

spied upon my tears.

I remember how you plucked a star for me

and promised it was only the beginning.

I know I dreamed,

though I had no right.

But you grew stronger—

the sky listened to you, at your feet

the earth would bow.

And though decades pass,

the pain does not fade.

The cry endures, heard only by you.

I dedicated my life to you,

for you I stripped myself of desires.

Tears Will Shatter

The final sunrise awaits me.

I look for a sound joyous enough

to resemble a prayer

of your sleep.

The world halted mid-step—

I did not even glance afar.

Yet I beheld all

that is dearest:

a silvered dream,

unaware of itself,

a smile, but one from heart to heart,

tears too light to exist,

silence to crown hope.

I longed to see in you what lies

beyond heaven,

further than the longing

I consigned to endless paths.

In one moment, dreams gave way.

It was time to live

against the future,

to love what still remains strange.

I will draw you an unknown, fleeting world,

where melancholy falls asleep,

where happiness dies mid-sentence.

I will sketch such a fate

that tears will shatter, and the body

will turn into a sigh, only too vast

for me to catch.

Empty Hourglass

Silence, of which I am not afraid.

A sentimental night that shall never

reach its end.

I am an accident—

through it, nothing changes.

I resemble a pretext,

with which neither dreaming nor shining

is worth the effort.

Strange are the turns of unruly fate—

stranger still the longings

I cannot keep pace with.

Please, return and let me find

the uncombed verses, the erased chapters,

the crumpled dialogues — everything

narrows down to an empty hourglass,

to a handful of questions

that will never taste of appeasement.

Life, as always dictated,

is too indolent

to attempt reparation.

Dreams grow distorted, too fleshly

to be assigned their own time.

Instead of me, peace will perish—

freedom will be reborn; I do not understand its tongue.

I will scribble another autobiography on my knee—

fate will grant a favor

and uncover another emergency exit.

I shall become the world — nothing more.

I will turn into fear—

and everything will remain the same.

Fallen to Ruins

Do you hear it? Morning, steeped

in the fragrance of sleep

and thoughts met by chance.

I still walk the road

that does not fit my feet.

I still cross barricades and worlds—

someone sold them off too hastily.

I cannot weep; in these times

it is against the rules.

Before I return, leave behind

a few plastic tears, a handful

of moldy question marks,

an arranged chaos,

a bird freed from its sky.

Your shadows chase me — desolate

is today’s hell.

Hush! The time for the future draws near—

let blood ignite in the temples,

let the body’s harvest awaken.

Words etched on skin are indelible—

their marks, covered in soot,

collide with a too-early return.

I lied in the regulations—

simplicity is a sad thing, respected

and rare beyond measure.

I hear no footsteps of a new day.

I feel no light — it has fallen to ruins.

One More Future

As a proper beginning, I was given a name.

It came from the wrong guardian.

I became a body,

the kind one sometimes waits for.

Again sorrow spreads—

of a brownish shade,

with a torn wing, humiliated

by its own life.

I try to kindle within me

a little fragment of time—

a keepsake

from a world too immense.

A snowstorm, conceived in a dream deep enough

to awaken, today is

a dispassionate sigh,

a contemplative tomorrow, byways

where I abandoned my shadow.

One day, the aged words will yield

their place to younger thoughts.

An hour will begin—

it shall not envy curiosity

nor impatience.

It will be a sign that the senses stand to attention,

that hope has become the foundation

for a new sky.

No, I cannot lose myself at the border

between water and light—

the rainbow will not rise this morning.

No vision of one more future,

no prayer repeated.

Prayers Without an Addressee

That day the heavens favor me, conceived

by your smile.

The earth exalts, thrown into embrace

by your hand.

The sun is soothingly light

and fresh, the stars entwine

in constellations of love.

Yes. Behold, trust, the prodigal daughter,

returns from distant hours;

from where I once recited

prayers without an addressee.

But today the horizon blooms

like the year’s first thoughts, clouds

are cotton candy

from a kinder past.

Yes. This day I dance, though for dancing

I have two left feet;

the heart shimmers like a noble jasper,

freedom has made itself at home in words.

Whence in man so much faith,

that on the other side awaits more

than one should dare expect?

Whence in us so much hope,

greener than reborn grass?

I gaze straight into the sun’s eyes—

before me still many, many

untrodden hours,

unknown fantasies that will weave the canvas

for a new prayer.

Before me thousands of fading candles;

steps beyond counting.

The roadside is adorned with traces — I shall never erase them.

Remain my solitude,

my longing, which I no longer beg for.

An Hour of Silence

Sunny and warm it is today in the depth of spirit.

Bright and lucid, the heart reveals itself.

For many hours I have tried

to soothe loneliness — I know

it resists longing.

Perhaps it is the unfinished role that makes

time run backward?

I know not how much truth lies in what I hear.

I do not remember whence I took

your kiss upon my lips.

By pure chance I found a stone

shaped like a lost heart.

I hurry to meet destiny—

here graze my lemon dreams.

I reveal myself to the future, an age

so fickle it may be counted on the fingers of those

who remain. I wish to honor memory

with an hour of silence.

Still I hear the rising sun.

I taste the sky, sweeter

than borrowed happiness.

I burn, I am consumed — in defiance of blood’s course,

in defiance of the body.

A prayer? What is left to me but glory

for sins? I seal fear

with my word — still I walk your path.

A Miracle Will Happen

What if life tastes

like an unfinished dream,

while pain stays so gullible?

What if we keep on dreaming

against ourselves,

while our desires flee

before the silence?

The sky has cracked, angels are falling

straight into my arms.

The body mocks the soul; I am

an expired byproduct.

Perhaps a miracle will happen

and I will find the road to nowhere—

tears scattering in panic.

May I paint your longing,

so it could brighten sorrow?

Perhaps someone is stealing my dreams—

passion so often

turns into a life’s mistake.

And though I know that someone else

will finish this poem,

that calm will conquer unrest—

I will resurrect from your melancholy,

from the fear that not everything

has to be a dream.

Gullible Senses

Am I just a mirage

that time tries to strip from life?

Am I a tomorrow

in which I sink into oblivion?

The stigma returns — drowsiness

is white as a dream

that pleased your hope.

Everything revealed

despite the tears is a confession of the lost.

I wish you would teach me

to see what does not belong to me;

to notice a flaw

upon your lips.

For years my future

has belonged to someone else—

conscience too distant, and time too naïve.

For a long while I’ve complained

about my own shadow.

I clearly hear the howl of uncertainty—

I see you, though senses are

so gullible.

I would love to feel on my skin

your passion, your dread—

I fall asleep, while tears laugh

at themselves.

A Corner in the Heart

A love once lost costs

too much. Lonely longing

demands strength and its own being.

I dream of the future

too greedily — so that senses

might fit within arms.

Please, take a little breath,

a corner in the heart—

I promise I will write you

a farewell letter.

I lock my soul against silence,

the stone of the head weighs toward heaven.

I swim in tears,

I sink into hope,

whose spring lies in tomorrow.

I will not create a separate hell for you—

everything rests in loneliness’ hands.

Perhaps a dream will touch me—

too fragile for wounds.

I will settle among the stars,

the moon shall keep my watch.

Through half-closed eyelids

passion escapes — absolved

and too humble

to remain indifference.

I Miss the Sky

I run to greet the dawning morning.

I open the door — instead of you

I see last year’s night.

If you allow me, I’ll dedicate to you

a fragment of passion; a shred of star

that tangled in my hair

as I walked barefoot from hell.

I try to anoint these hours

that divide us from the past; I dream

that sleepless tomorrow

might turn into an unsigned pact.

You see, I no longer need time

to forget the boundless.

Wounds come alive within me—

never tended enough,

seeking their own scars.

I miss that single hour

when you gave me a nameless promise.

I miss the sky,

that nuzzles at my knees.

Lacking words, so like my own.

To Dream So Simply

Return. Prelude. Continuation.

Subchapter. Epilogue. Empty page.

Which of these signs

leads toward time?

Perhaps the future has found a way

into my reclaimed world?

My skin shivers at the thought

of how few words stood

between me and forsaking life.

Today, without a reason, I touch the sky with my heart.

I feel the light I had forgotten.

I cherish this night within me,

its bittersweet, sticky darkness,

bringing blind kisses,

sleepless caresses.

Your tears echo inside me—

I will not sell reality so easily.

Never again will I mistake thought

for truth; I will feel, with my whole being,

this riddle.

Our planets converged, collided at their poles,

doomed from above

to embodied loneliness.

I wandered along rugged trajectories

at the foot of the heart;

it is beautiful to dream

so simply, without ceremony.

A Soothing for the Senses

I feel the brush of unfinished hours.

I hear your complaints — the night is

so humble, so submissive,

that I could vanish without a trace.

I cannot bear the stars, shining

painfully bright — they remind me of the path

my dreams have worn away.