Summer poem.

The warm evenings of late July
The pink and purples covering
the sky just wondering
if you’re at the same place as I
am or if I’m mistaken and misplaced.

Do I have to cross this street
or will u make the search for me?
Will you check behind the tree?
It’s warm so we can stay outside.
But it’s getting dark.

The warm evenings of late July
Did I hear mosquitoes or was that just
someone’s cry?
I was just wondering if you were here
or we were just lost somewhere.

New tattoo & back to painting.

Welcome back! The last post was on the 15th of April and if I would be to say I’m embarrassed that would be an understatement.

Continue reading “New tattoo & back to painting.”

Skog – a poem collection.

I wrote a couple of poems which circulate around subject of forest so I decided to gather them together in samling : collection.

Continue reading “Skog – a poem collection.”

We lived then – a poem.

Original first – then translation. Mine, of course.

Pamiętasz, jak w namiocie
Siedziliśmy cała zgrają, wgniecieni z flaszką.
Nikt nas nie pchał do picia tego ścierwa.
Ale smakowało tak słodko.
Wtedy tak smakowało.

Czy ktoś z nas myślał
Że to tylko moment?
Kto z nas zapomni, a kto z nas
Nie będzie w stanie zapomnieć?

Nie wiedzieliśmy, nikt nie
Zastanawiał się nad jutrem.
Teraz flaszka też na stole, ale gorzka.

Nie przeszkadzały nam chłodne poranki.
Lodowate prysznice
zimne śpiwory.
Wtedy żyliśmy.

*** translation ***

Remember, when in tent
We sat all, pushed in corners with bottles.
No one was forced to drink that utter piss…
But it tasted so good.
Then – it was the best.

Did any of us think
that it was just a moment?
Who will not remember and who
Won’t be able to forget?

We didn’t know, no one
Thought about tomorrow.
Now bottle also on the table, but bitter.

We weren’t bothered by cold mornings.
Chill showers
froze sleeping bags.
We lived then.


I hope you guys don’t sit way past after midnight and dwell on your past like me right now. Let’s live, while we still can.

I miss traveling.

It won’t be a self-pity type of text, neither it will be a tear-dropping sob story of how I have been stuck in one country for two years and going.

Continue reading “I miss traveling.”

Who am I.

It’s not really a question, because I’m not asking anyone. I won’t get the answer even from myself. It’s drifting around the subject, as a young immigrant.

Continue reading “Who am I.”

The smell of January.

My head is full of poetry those days. I wake up with random poems in my head and I go to sleep similar… and sometimes I have to merge them and it suddenly all makes sense. Enjoy.

Continue reading “The smell of January.”

Love’s A Stranger – a poem.

Powoli spadający śnieg.
A wiesz kogo dzisiaj spotkałam?
Ale i tak nikt mi nie uwierzy…
Ciemno było… ale lampki w oknach!
Ale pruszyło!

A teraz idź precz!
Juz wszystko przecież wiesz…
Zostaw mnie tutaj, chcę zatańczyć
z Jerzym, poudawajmy, że tak pięknie
tutaj śnieży

Idź, już idź…

*** translation ***

Slowly falling snow.
Do you know who I met today?
But no one will know…
It was dark… but the lights in the windows!
Big flakes of snow!

Now go away!
You already heard everything…
Let me stay,
I want to dance with George,
let’s pretend the snow
isn’t forged

Go, just go…

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