Tak się kończy

jeśli zdarzy się tak, że zwariuję
z rozpaczy z nadwrażliwości uszu
z poczucia winy
zabij mnie jak zabija się muchę
gwałtownie bez namysłu
gdy krąży jeszcze przy twoim czole
zanim napije się niezdrowej krwi

jeśli zwariuję
z naddbałości o szczegóły z nienawiści
i tęsknoty jeśli zwariuję
nie zastanawiaj się zabij mnie
nie wiem czym - nie jestem ekspertem
złośliwym tylko człowiekiem
jestem plamą na twoim ciele

kiedy zwariuję
zapomnę przez co kiedy dlaczego
będę ich tylko nienawidzić 
bardziej niż teraz
dlatego nie czekaj zabij natychmiast
gdy zobaczysz, że źrenic otwierają się chmury
i ronią zapchlony deszcz

zabij zwariuję bacznie obserwuj
zabij ja truję zabij zanim
poznam cały alfabet przekleństw
zanim usłyszysz jak pluska w studni
zanim chlapnie w twoje oko
i rozmnoży swoje źródło
zabij proszę i zapomnij
o tej szarej półce duszy nie mojej
o niewytłumaczonej skazie myśli
i niepohamowanych słowach goryczy




przepraszam tylko
Słowika, który co dzień ciepłem pióra kocham
Sowę, co silnym okiem cała skałą kocham
i Przepiórki tak niewiele było tych co pokochałam
przepraszam

Emily in the Woods

how long is the longing

how rainy is the rainy day

when Emily opens her eyes it looks as if

they'd been raining her dream out

and that storm on her head

does not foretell

a bright morning dress

how patient can a person be

whose heart's just been saved from thunder

but still shivers the leafy on the wind

how grateful should she be

for the 200-acre forest that means no life

but bushes of wet trampled blueberries

who likes eating mushrooms

Emily has always been (yuck!) detesting them

she's never eaten one

nor has she smelled any of them

this is us, this is our forest

which will never be our home

since we'll always find a mushroom to grimace at

and a blueberry to mourn...

Me, the Teacher

Being a teacher is fun. I really believe it is. Apart from loads of checking/correcting stuff and constant hunting for inspiration to make a lesson enjoyable, there are the people for whom you pull yourself together. I like listening to them, I'm always happy to hear from them what's "shakin' " now.. As for teenagers, I love them speaking about (or rather mumbling because they're usually a bit ashamed of) having a boyfriend/ girlfriend. Of course they don't want me to know, I'm a stranger, somebody they think has no idea about anything. An alien. Might be.

I like being listened to, that's why I am who I am. I am a teacher. Sometimes they don't listen to me at all. Sometimes they tell on me, that's not fair. I am a put-the-blame-on-me teacher.

I like acting in front of others, that's why I am who I am. I am a teacher. I tend to talk too much and it's not necessarily interesting. I should be more a now-it's-your-turn teacher.

I like observing other people's behaviour and reactions. I've recently discovered that boys can argue about trivial things too. I realise it is no use threatening fourteen-fifteen year olds with a bad grade. I am an almost know-all teacher.

I like looking through books. Heaven forbid I happen to be in a bookshop. I am addicted to spending money on books. But that's probably not that bad. I am just a spend-it-all-they-may-be-useful teacher.

And when I finish my lessons, I'm so worn out that I'd rather not listen to anything of that. Oh, until the next day that is to say.

There are times when I wonder how much energy and devotion there is inside me to spare. Will it be enough for a next year? Or for having a try in a state school for a change?

People

Glossy bossy people 
they never pass through my brain
just see them crossing the streets
and sometimes presume they're bubbles 
boorish foolish
satisfied with being a lamp
that has no light bulb

what are they
doing what
bashing
proud of their flashing
boards of expensive sequins

Purple pens

Purple pens

they write so well
they scratch against the paper roughly
when I want to yell

My purple pens
are eager to create
I can feel in my fingernails they want to dance
and tell the story which won't pass my mouth

My dear purple pens
one day I'll show them to you
you might be afraid to enter the world of lines
so straight and perfect like they were new

My dear light purple pens
you are so obedient and disagree almost never
should I break you to have the effect
or change you, but is it really clever?

Why, my dear light purple pens, no offence
remember? we used to play together at nights
words so akward but wanting to dance
as if allowed frivolty as if happy to be filled with colour

Xtreme Te Extrano ~ Original version