Poezja

To understand the body,
smeared with ash,
you will need wisdom.

Why did you want to―
translate the melodrama
of fingers, when hands were folded?

The silent scream
cleaves the moon,
and thousand stars
come to console you.

No compliments
were given to sun.

Will you tattoo my
name on your chest?
A caged cuckoo
wants to become free.