Tag: poezija

Freud’s Dream

Posted on by Martyna

FREUD’S DREAM

 

In the jungle never were days barren of touching

panthers, cobras, tigers –

treading licking in golden frames.
 

A thick nectar pours from the depths of intoxication

with butterflies, dragons from the east it flies

away…
 

During your childhood you met many fantastic beasts

Lynx rubbed against your legs,

Snakes whispered sweet little words,

Adorned in scorpion beads.
 

During adolescence you began to shun your acquaintances

And learned to sleep with a loaded weapon under your pillow

All of your beloved having turned into

Monkeys bounding in wilderness.
 

When you became an adult, when it receded like a shadow

A shadow, having grown still,

You do not see dreams at all and sleep with a weapon

Placed at the end of your bed.

Dream Poem No. 3

Posted on by Martyna

DREAM POEM NO. 3

 

Let’s build a tent in the yard.
Let’s occupy the territories.
Let’s share it.
Let’s built the towers of sand,
 

Let’s destroy it together.
If we play, we play,
If we lose, we lose,
If we win, we win.
 

Occupying each other
Doesn’t need many agreements –
If I’ll take half of your heart
Another half is still free
For old gardening habits.
If we play, we win,
If we win, we lose,
If we lose, we play.
 

We do remember by heart
What does it mean
To cut the lands as slices of bread
For so many mouths
All of them are hungry and thirsty.
If we play, we lose,
If we lose, we play,
If we play, we win.

Film Scenes

Posted on by Martyna

FILM SCENES

 

Sometimes film scenes seem sharper than

life’s

chili

in them skyscrapers explode

and people, even after a huge catastrophe occurs

kiss warmly and passionately,

not counting

their last seconds of oxygen.
 

Though sometimes –

and you’re not a more ordinary

hero –

you leave the house having not turned off the gas,

not having greeted your neighbor

and…

loo –

your film runs out.
 

Before the setting sun sets you still want to

direct the scenes, to cut out the most disillusioned,

yet
 

someone over there, by the television

really likes your

sobbing.

Enlightenment

Posted on by Martyna

ENLIGHTENMENT

 

When you stood up wearing skinny jeans
And white converses
Your black hair was falling down
Onto concrete floor of contemporary art center
Maybe it was just a shadow of it
But I already knew you –
You’ve come from disappearing country
You’ve come from disappearing tribe
Constantly witnessing decay.
 

We were also almost disappearing from each others’ sight
In the dusk of gallery hall,
But then you asked somebody to turn on the light,
Because you won’t see more these faces in front of you, –
That was your explanation.
My face was one among those faces
And maybe I could be almost deleted from your memory files,
But somebody turned on the light
And the table to where I was sitting was illuminated first.
I am placed at your palm, my future lover.
 

You are reading poetry about hands –
How do the same hands might be Nightingales,
And the same hands can be a gun trigger pushers,
How the same hands born a wish to feed somebody
And the same hands born a wish to kill somebody.
I am also borning from your hands –
From squeezing my handbreadth, wrist and an elbow,
Consolidating your fingers’ knots on my hand
And then touching my red cheek with your fist.
You smiled saying:
You’ve got some sun, darling.
 

Yes, love, I got burned under your heating up lamp,
That’s what I would like to answer, but it was too early to realize it myself.
As if I was keeping my fire matches for myself in order not to burn them all
At once, in order not to transform the sun into solarium.
 

It’s just the beginning of our light stretch.
When time becomes flatten and flows in
The horizon of sunset.
The beginning.
When motorways of light years are finally crossing
And allowing us to encounter each other.