You are my SUN
Biblioteka Tematu,
Redaktor: Dariusz Tomasz Lebioda,
Ilustracje Joanna Hrk,
Wrocław 2015.
Wybrane wiersze
To a Child
You are my SUN.
The brightest star in space.
I am – a planet,
without shiness,
revolving around its axis.
But when I track down the orbit around you,
I light up a WORD in darkness
with a light that`s from you rebounced.
Bird’s Niobe
A bird flew from over the sky–
in its beak a flapping fly.
The bird flew into the nest
that a fox had ripped into shreds.
The bird went dumb at the sight.
The empty nest made it petrified.
So much pain and torment dwelled in
the small bird.
Tears surged into a river within seconds,
and all that turned into
sand spilling from within its tiny eyelids.
A run- over dog
There was a grate of brakes around,
a screech of tyres, a screaming child.
And rose above a smell of rubber.
Sombody`s briefcase on the ground…
– A dog dashed in the street!
– Surely on holiday is his master!
– He headlong ran with red lights on!
– With passers–by he should`ve crossed.
Right there he lay run–over–
before a hit car on the road.
A flashing searchlight were his eyes.
Like stubblefield his hair raised up.
– A stuck–in–the–mud, move back!
–Try helping with your tail!
One looker threw a core.
The hooters urged him on…
And then a child ran up to it,
with frightened eyes…
with broken leash –
A child’s drawing
– I`ve drawn you a picture of man, mum.
A real one.
Not a robotie.
He has a head, a trunk,legs and hands.
That`s all that came to my mind.
What else shall I add to finish him up?
– Draw him a HEART.
Where the blank place in the trunk.
To the grandson
Don`t roll your hands like that,
pointlessly, don`t, grandson.
To all people open them wide up,
as giving is a great art.
Take my word for it,
Everything you have in your hands,
the staff of your fingers
into notes of
a joyful song will array.
The table
The table links people,
unites a family–
on the lessons I`m telling so,
directing my words especially
to those in the first and the last row.
Whose table are you talking about?
A middle–row pupil asked.
Not mine ,that`s a shame.
As at my table…mother is always dieting,
and father is reading again.
A row
The nerves are being frayed.
The tongues are slashing themselves.
One fist threatens another–
I`ll beat you, beware!
When anger knocked it about,
the reason awakened at last.
And stamping its foot, it called out:
Enough of the row! Let`s talk
like good pals.
Hear the heart in the breast cage,
it`s tousled. It`s thumping like mad
and quaking all feared and sad?
A child’s world
My gaze embraced the WORLD OF CHILD
which from afar
looked like a coloured ball.
But in its orbit,
in its rainbow`s band,
I saw from beneath its phantom those rings
OF BLACK AND GREY
The catastrophic rails on a child`s world track.
With no switch ,with a semaphore`s blind eye.
Dove of peace
Dove of peace –
A drawing by PICASSO.
Its shape and appeal confined
in the whiteness of paper,
and pencil sketches.
Though wings are not spread
to fly in the distance,
it`s travelled the globe and the sky,
carrying in its beak…
the artist`s MESSAGE.
Children of new wars
They are not enemy CHILDREN.
Of MOTHERS and FATHERS they`re ones.
Like us.
– Are their hearts different from ours?
–Which ones are tenderer?
– Which ones suffer less after a terrible loss?
The tears are all bitter.
Too often it hears the word ENEMY.
Too seldom it hears the word FRIEND.