Forgiveness | English poems

 languages of suffering

let’s learn languages of suffering –
only this way we will learn another man
only this way we will learn how to love

only this way we will learn about his hands –
inkwells filled with pain
like frozen swans on a lake

only this way we will wipe his face
and help to stand up
after he falls the third time


let’s learn languages of suffering –
bitten from pain
stopped by scream in mid-sentence
when hands immerse in a waxen face
and people seem to come out of the TV

because only this way we’ll understand ourselves
and without asking for a way
we’ll pack suitcases
before last journey

#poems-about-death #poem-about-life #foreign-languages #Tower-of-Babel #Way-Cross #love-to-neighbor

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 notes from the old people’s home

on the chair’s arm
still hangs her just unbuttoned
wedding dress

and thoughts already buttoned with pills
hands sweeten tea near the cup
in the lotto every number right next to accurate


father’s name – Tristan
mother’s name – Iseult
reflections in mirror greet each other
addresses are the first multiplication table
tears get lost in the labyrinth of face
they cannot flow down anymore

and other people’s memories
ring in the middle of the night
they force to run somewhere barefoot
through museum
straight ahead

#poems-about-death #poem-about-life #time-flies #Tristian-and-Iseult #senile-dementia

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 shirts

every week
I take out from Goya’s painting
his fresh shirts

I wash starch and hang them
spray with perfumes
just as he liked

a table two plates
I darn a bread with butter
now I move chairs closer

his workshop?
just as he left everything untouched:
pencils signed with teeth
unfinished cold tea
it’s not a dust – it’s holiness roaming barefoot

I believe – I don’t believe
but still I think that he will come back
he just went out for bread as usual

only the dog stopped fetching shoes
laced
just as he liked

#poems-about-death #poem-about-life #suffering #metaphysical-poetry #sad #longing #poem-painting #Francisco-Goya

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 the dream between teeth

the death –
is a redhead girl
with a piece of dream between teeth

she comes suddenly
at day or at night
to dance with me and with you
to dance with a plastic bag on the street

the death –
it’s books not returned  to the library
it’s a pile of letters and bills by the door
it’s a scattered game of chees on the floor

it’s virulent whistle of kettle
during full moon
in a flat
by

#poems-about-death #funeral-poems #english-poems #dream #Death-playing-chess #unfinished-business #personification-of-death

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^{All poems translated by Weronika Warzocha}

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