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
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!
they taught us
to love our enemies
even if they hit our faces
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
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
eternal is only
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
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
to a ray
21st of November 2002
the other doubting me
so you as well
have lost your naïve faith?
12th of January 2015
when the transmission lines
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
dancing her dance of might
bringing the smell of the wind
and the promise of
growing cold with me
is her call
15th of January 2015
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
in my oneiric
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
to be a human
your never projected
12th of January 2015 r.
I dissected today
then went outside
the bloody sunset
and under my feet
a new incarnation
12th of January 2015
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
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
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
They put a mark
On my soul
8th of September 2002
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
life that seeks
the legitimacy of being
12th of January 2000