the cosmic wheel turns the quern of time
the cold has blown
maybe it's death
the key of clamorous cranes in the north
is cutting the gray milky sky
with the shapeless echo of klangor
I am still breathing

I enlace my face with a spiderweb
it has seen too much already
even if it's been here only since yesterday
how awkward is my every step
into uncertainty
I am learning to shine again
even though I stopped believing
long time ago

too palpable is this emptiness
of the days counted down with
persistence in negation
in a moment the record
of the past events will burn
in a moment I will look into
the depth of understanding

19th of September 2017

The Mystery

when I stop writing
when I close my eyes forever
please burn all my
unfinished thoughts
sprinkle with black soot
all the rotten bridges
of understatements
monuments of life
that craved too greedily
and screamed too loud

outstretch the banners
over the burial mound of my ignorance
let the shameless mystery of the word
be done just this once
let the spirit know
that to exist is not enough
and to hope means nothing

let me turn
into the bottomless grief
if even once
I become unfaithful to myself
if I consciously praise
the submission
salt in the eye of this world

19th of September 2017

My Belief

My belief is a forest - vast and fragrant with resin,
Flower wreaths neatly woven on the temples of girls.
My belief is the beauty of the Equinox feasting,
Universe that is endless like a fog on the meads.

And my pride - Polish tongue in a child's quiet singing,
The great deeds of Forefathers and old graveyards in sleep.
And my strength - 'tis the sunshine and the Slavic zadruga,
And my heart - 'tis the rowan that is bleeding with me.

All my life is a battle. I am rooting and growing
And I long for my Homeland that I've known from the tales.
Like this water that's leaking from one's hands with no mercy -
Thus my story will finish, thus my lifetime will pass...

And my words - so inconstant, yet so strong and eternal
Like a storm over ravines roaring there in the dark.
They will last through millennia to oppose blackened aeons,
Like this forest - so fragrant, so infinite, so vast.

2002 - 20th of September 2012


Sit with me by the table, fragrant with the forest.
I shall lit tiny candle. Mares shall run astray!
Sit with me as we used to! Do you still remember?
Very often I feel you, as if you had stayed.

Into two wooden goblets golden mead I'm pouring.
Drink with me as we used to - to the happy days!
You're so gorgeous and tired, I'm so vain and saddened.
Who had stolen your image - into mists, away?

And your eyes - purest beauty! Into them I wondered!
I remember that sunlight in the eyes of thine!
Vanished thou! And I also have become a memory.
Sit with me! There is nothing but the silent pines...

Greenhithe, 17th of May 2012

The Rite of Passage

Graveyards in the woods
Where the trees fall down each year
Where the Sun forgets to shine

Stony trails of fate
Divinity of silent marks
As old as the time itself

I'm walking through the night
And the memories become alive
Like the echoes of ancient glory

Spilling the golden blood
Of the pines and mighty oaks
I chant the songs of power

Sheltered for ages in dark caves
The spirits of the Earth arise
To ignite the forgotten fire

Enthroned be the night
All the gods who fell asleep
To return this very hour

Graveyards in the woods
Where I become the fallen tree
Where the Sun will never shine again!


The Kingdom

they taught us
to love our enemies
even if they hit our faces
with hate

and they said there was no God
in the sacred groves
in the stones and trees
in snappy rivers
and the bright face of the Sun
that we bowed before idols

they despised our love to the land
they said that the fatherland
was not the ancestral glory
our forefathers' care for the soil
their warfare pains
that the Slavic kingdom
was not of this world

they also said
that the time was coming
when the son would oppose his father
the daughter - her mother

so they said

they told us to kneel
and sprinkle our heads with ashes
they persuaded
that we were this dust ourselves

many of us believed

broken and lost
kneeling in muggy temples
made of stone
to the images and sculptures
to a dead god
on a solar cross

no empire
is eternal

eternal is only
our memory

8th of July 2010


There she stands upon the naked hill
Gazing into the dark
Beneath the surface of the silver moon

The eternity embraces Her sorrow
As She howls in a frightful awe
And the spears of dead trees bow before Her

This is the time of magic
The apogee of pagan triumph
Where life surrenders once again
To the might of sudden death

Hail the beautiful Wolfish Daughter
The mighty Priestess of the Night
The storm of dancing stars above Her
The thorn of mankind in Her heart

Hail the solitude and the slaughter
Under the lunar spell shining so bright
The scent of blood into these woods has brought her
The fangs in flesh - primordial art!


Even Though I Shall Disappear

even though I shall disappear
not a single teardrop
will fall on the ground from my eyes
and not even one word of complaint
shall I utter
for I shall not cease to exist

I shall pierce every pound of soil
with my energy
and finally learn to fly
I shall put my dream
that I had been screaming all my life
between the stars

I shall destroy my nothingness
as she fears the light of existence
I shall understand why I was here
and what was my purpose
with the spirits of my forefathers
I shall stand in front of the gates
of the underworld

and together we shall become
the rivers and mountains
oceans of silence
and the meadows
sprinkled with the spring

for in some sense
a human being
is similar
to a ray

21st of November 2002

* * *

the other doubting me
has knocked
my door

so you as well
have lost your naïve faith?

12th of January 2015


when the transmission lines
are dying
and they rust in the fields
being touched only by rain
I look towards
the grey horizons
soft thoughts with no boundaries
the infinity of history

mother earth
dancing her dance of might
bringing the smell of the wind
and the promise of

mother earth
growing cold with me

so distinct
is her call

15th of January 2015

Of the Reapers and the Field Maiden

The highest noon and the heat of the Summer.
The reapers - mowing field of golden corn.
The scythes are shining in the midday sun.
The flames of Svarog - pouring from the skies.

All of a sudden something weird is happening:
The whole vicinity falls into silence.
Among the reapers, dressed in shiny linen,
The horror maiden stands, field ghost, Południca.

The scythes are falling on the sunburnt soil,
The men are falling, soulless, to the ground.
And not a word do they utter when dying
And not a single bird does sing above them.

It's better to avoid the field at noon.
When you can hear no sound 'round you at all
It means the maiden's walking very near
And all she'd bring to you would be eternal silence.

30th of July 2002

Calling Into Void

in my oneiric
sophisticated world
there is no space for illusion
and your revelations

before you understand
you will condemn
before you think
you will reject

i will exist despite you
and your miserable moments
wasted chances
to be a human

your never projected

12th of January 2015 r.

* * *

I dissected today
my yesterday's

then went outside
to admire
the bloody sunset

and under my feet
I found
a new incarnation

12th of January 2015

Kikimora and the Grain

The shaded chamber has opened ajar
And kikimora emerged from the dark.
Looking at the room with her cross-eyed sight,
Sniffing and walking towards the daylight's might.

So she beheld the world for the first time
That showed her magic of all earthly charms.
Behind the door there was the whispering corn,
There was the power of almighty morn.

She felt unhappy because of that awe,
That striking beauty of wheat she just saw.
She felt she was by this splendour outgrown
So simply she withdrew, back has she gone.

Yet since that day she holds very dear
The sacks of golden corn at the chamber's rear.
Even if horrified by the fields of grain,
She craves their beauty until this very day.

And - deeply hidden before the human eye -
She's still admiring the vast seas of rhye
Throughout the windows - and then in the night
She bakes the bread out of golden might.

30th of July 2002


in a place where poetry is combined with kitsch
only the cry of humanity has the right to vote
the smoke going up from the gray fields of loneliness
brings images of childhood
and memories living only between
misunderstanding and doubt
here where only the words of truth are able to
save the heritage dying day after day
new philosophy based on folklore
hidden deep within all of us
arises from the decks of will to create and transform
the painter puts an invisible sun colors
on the roofs of houses dormant with ignorance
a new era awakens in the forest-dwelling solitude
the accretions of the past centuries fall off
the intact walls of pride and strength
collective memory becomes the reality
archaic songs make sense again
no one doubts the validity of mysticism anymore
yet still there are so few of us
among the kingdoms of hypocrisy
dowry of the sun as bright as the power of words
freedom that we will not be deprived of
every second is an ally of the truth
wooden trunk from which we grew up gives new juices
very slowly the world goes forth to greatness

5th of September 2002


Poor is he who does not believe in magic
And Thy existence in the dark of fenland,
Maiden, who dwellest in the deepest forest,
Drinking the moonlight with its cold illusions
As if they were the finest of all pleasures
As well in heavens as on earthly bossom...

Let me dive into spheres of heathen madness,
Show me thy favour, lighten my ignorance,
Sing for me, Beauty, sing for me, my Goddess!

Let thy sonatas of abysmal sorrow
Flow through the landscapes of nocturnal silence
'chanting my senses with Thy vain temptation,
Shining as bright as moon over Silesia,
Pushing me to the gates of deadly slumber
So I can adore in great admiration
Thy lovely figure in the streams of silver...

Following the call of internal voices
I walk towards the source of my deep yearning
To search for splendour of the ancient ages,
Hidden before me in an ancient temple,
Among the ruins of forgotten culture...

I see Thee standing like a sacred statue,
Singing for me the song of dark oblivion.
I close my eyes and flow to new dimensions...

27th of January 2001

Last Day In the Woods

So cold is light,
So warm the dark.
Old year, dark woods -
Their deadly mark.
In here life passes by
- and thus
There was no us,
There'll be no us.

The wintry shadows,
Craze of night.
Our time, most splendid
Feast of might,
Was like a dream,
Brought by the hands
Of heathen lore -
Among our lands.

The year flows into
Far unknown.
Into the death
We're being thrown.
The misty tombs
We'll visit straight.
Don't be afraid...
Don't be afraid...

May 21st, 2002


The winged statues were whirling
In the spaces beyond time

I gazed at them
Trying to understand
Their non-verbality

They put a mark
On my soul


8th of September 2002

Alpha Orionis

faint light of the oil lamp
somewhere up there
a spider hidden in dense darkness
weaving a thread from silent memories

a handful of schizophrenia
with a touch of anxiety
bat claw and stardust

nothing has been said definitely
life and death
and between them the mirror
so indifferently cold

meteor flying above
and the hooting owl
eons of empty events
poisoned by the venom of time
the mystery of immortality
buried under the tree
from the sacred grove of fallen epochs

three ounces of brimstone
and the spark of delight
alpha orionis
nocturnal dark

life that seeks
the legitimacy of being

12th of January 2000


Hear me now! Silently I am tearing the welkin
And in darkness I last, in a fright, against skies!
Nameless god - he had carven streams of light in my spirit.
Other god had me banished. And I fell on my back.

Like a resin I flow into wilderness' magic,
Squandering all my powers in the moonlight up high.
'Tis my dream and my strife: moonlit rye and the whirlwinds!
And that wild wicked hatred decorating the night.

So the endless fields whisper... And I - lover of soil -
I turn into white mist - just a scent without shape.
I do not ask for more, since the morning shall triumph
And uproot my desires with the Sun's godly shade.

Here and yonder, all breathless and all faint I shall perish,
Into nothing I'll go, lightless void, cold and vast.
Hear me now! Feel the power of my profane existence!
Against skies, like a hero, selfishly I still last!

13th of July 2004

The Walk Through Kościeliska Valley

They stood above me - proudly, overhanging themselves.
I thought that into darkness they'd fall, of my spirit.
In Kościeliska valley my visions were marching
And into dust - transforming themselves - were departing.
The ghost of mighty Tatra walked through the cloudy shelves,
Drinking the blood of river and trees that were near it.

And then this stream was flowing, awaking the silence.
The mists embraced the mountain tops with white enigma.
The echoes were reflected by the sunbathed ridges.
There was no end to dancing of shadows. Like midgets
They played with rays of sunlight through laughter and violence.
The worlds were overwhelming solar thunder's stigma.

Zakopane, 7th of August 2002

* * *

I do not care
of such paltry things
as god
or the meaning of life

for me
what really counts is
what is the most important

a moment


Landscape With A Girl

Mysterious as the element of mighty whispering woods,
Sweet as remembrance of the hay that once was quickly mown,
Beautiful like the ribbon of the summer eventide,
The girl walked through the field, dressed in the gentle wind alone.

The sunset in her eyes had painted longing for the stars,
Her cheek was kissed by coldness of upcoming summer night.
The girl was walking on and on, into the wild unknown,
Where sun was setting down and hiding all its sacred might.

The crescent moon was bathing in the lake that laid nearby
And so was near the orchard full of cherry trees in bloom.
The Slavic goddess gazed into the endless starry sky
As if it was the greatest of her dreams, her only doom.

The braid that's neatly woven of her chestnut-coloured hair
Was falling on her naked breasts like magic waterfall.
She walked into the night, into the lands of the unknown.
She walked - and truly nothing else was happening at all.

19th of December 2003

Daughter of the Sun

The wheel, oh Svarog, the Lord of sunrays,
You put beneath her feet.

She is your daughter, born where the clouds are.
Make her the crown of dreams

And on her temples this crown of flowers
Put, my almighty God.

Her naked clothing, oh, Lord of Richness,
Make of aurora's gold!

Master of Heavens, don't let them steal it,
Don't let them watch her dance,

For in her dancing there is wild spirit
And Slavic forest dense!

In solar movements death bites the living,
All worlds becoming One.

Oh, mighty Svarog, my King and Master,
Enchant me too! Be done!

And like this maiden I'll die in circle,
Beaten by mists of morn.

Accept my tribute as I am dying.
My pride shan't be forlorn!

28th of April 2002

Of Oak and Rose

Thou comest in silence. Of all my revelations
Thou art the most true one, for thou lovest with silence.
In Thine eyes the light of the amber shines
And the shadows of ancient Roman Gods.

Oh, Flower, grown on the highland meadows,
Thou dost not fear the rain nor the fury of thunder!
I am as an oak, Thou - wrapped in darkness -
Art similar to the beautiful black rose.

The cloud of time is floating above us.
In the valley the wind decorates the trees with coldness.
We are lasting - the two of us - in the soft, white mist.

The worlds disappear, the stars run into the nothingness,
The hard mountain soil smells with the night already.
I fall into Thee. Thou entwinest me.

20th of September 2012

The Ritual

Into the lake my soul was thrown,
Into the haze where Sun doth dawn
With its majestic lustrous eye

Where darkened fog comes to an end
Through troubled waters I ascend
To claim the throne of endless light

Woe to the gods that cannot lead
Whilst judging humans by their deeds
The wisdom true comes out of lore

Oh, mighty forest, hear my name
And set the dying world aflame
My spirit lies upon these shores

30th of June 2012


A wooden dream. The white fog and black river.
Sadness goes 'round from one hut to another.
No sound at all. Even dogs being silent.
The speechless wind - like a willow-shaped ghost.

And then this willow, that burden that bends her,
Burden of life over indolent river.
Another god falls there into oblivion.
The universe - lurking over the fence.

Lightly and airily, heavily, grimly.
Thunder - the one of no sound and no power -
Lightens the blurred, sleepy brinks of the village.
The run. The silkness. Soft touch of the night.

And - with illusions of this feral twilight -
I hear the voices, some entangled moaning.
No, 'tis not moaning: the stars in the distance
Through rotten fence into village distill.

9th of June 2013