So much more...

I like your comforter.  Your couch too. But only next to you
And that bed I also like with your around.
The way wind tickles my face is better next to You.
I like kicking back and dig my life so much more, with You there.
And day, and night I like with you next to me.

A day in Bizub life...

....Bizub painted her nails last Sunday. 

...after a moment of serious consideration...

...I came to a conclusion that I don’t see a single sane reason to get married. I like my life the way it is, and am not planning on changing it anytime soon. Love, love until you feel it, until forever. And I believe in that, with or without a sheet of paper. Above all, a wedding means a nightmarish party, sweetening the pot with damn doves, gold circles, music that induces the desire for bloodthirstiness, necessity to invite a herd of aunts whose names I will never remember and potentially- having the biggest hangover of my life. Even attractiveness of filing taxes together, succession and coheir-ship changes nothing. 

No. This really doesn't make sense. 

The problem is that, that sense and reasoning that I speak of, are left behind. The moment I realized that I want to be a wife. Yes. Without a valid or solid reason. I want my life and that someone’s life to become ours. To make every serious decision together. Making everyday choices, running errands, I want to think of the other person. I want to wash our dishes, cook, vacuum the floor in our house, pick our dirty clothes up, while someone makes supper, for us. I want to walk the dog. Together. I want to strive to be smarter, more beautiful, more attractive, more everything with each day, of each year of our life together, knowing that even though someone won’t leave, I want to see his eyes sparkle when he looks at me. I want to have obligations and be committed. I want to be responsible for both of us. Without all the obligations, commitment and responsibility, what’s the point of being together, no? And God damn it, YES, I want to swear that my love will remain the same till very end and even longer, and I want him to do the same, knowing that, it is that way, with or without oath. 

I even want to change my last name, even though I am attached to my current one. I want, when people approach me, to know that I respond as a representative of something bigger- us. I even don’t mind inviting all those aunts, they have so little left in their lives, let them feast their eyes, and talk shit about my wedding dress. 

And then I will plant flowers and take care of our garden.

Your touch is music. So lets make music together.

Take me in your hands, let me fall asleep on your shoulder.
I hear your heart, so alive and no-sleepy at all.
I feel your warmth and scent around, you bring me peace and understanding.
You murmur something in my ear with whispers, and I dont even try to listen.
I let you exist like that for one night.
Just be around, today.
Just this once, because I am too weak to breath.
Kiss away the pain, the silence and glumness of today, and let me fall asleep.

Domino Effect

How to adequately catch it; this is a matter of choice.
But we all know what it will look like...
I can see the growing chain reaction, chemical reactions,
announcing occurrence of emotions established to deafen my logic and common sense.
Emotions that will blind me.
Hope.
The Queen of human phantom, the source of our strength and our biggest weakness.
Perhaps an electrical impulse that my brain cannot interpret may define you.

But this prophecy can also be trouble.
She returns. Weakly looks at me with her hazel eyes. Nod. I invited her in.
With You, it's so damn good.
Walking to my bedroom I look in the mirror.
In my eyes, cheerful devils,
that in recent week
have been dancing around the green iris.
Froze, and started piging out on chocolate.

What have you done for Athens, Socrates...

A couple of days ago, in 2012 a certain Wisława, smoked, like a prisoner, her last cigarette, scrolled up dexterously to the other side of the mirror from where she wickedly smiles.

The internet was crawling with “cats in the empty apartment”, fed with newly revelation-ed Polish poetry lovers, mourners lighting virtual Facebook candles, and building graves with angels- almost like a barricade against those, who are attached with a claw of worm eaten poem about Stalin, and faded signature under the petition regarding a certain resolution. Screaming over the open casket “Veto!” Shaking the corpse of Herbert, probably for the sake of comparison of offences and merits in regards to Poland.

In the meantime, Miłosz tosses and turns in his grave.

Kraków officially wept and wants to burry the poet on Wawel.
(What have you done for Athens, Socrates
That the people erected a gold statue for you
Poisoning you first)

Do you remember when in 2004 Szymborska and Miłosz signed an open letter in defense of Kraków Festival of Culture for Toleration, of which program included not only the LGBT Parade, but also scientific conference and a tribute to the Nazi homosexual victims of Auschwitz- Birkenau?

Kraków up-roared. Not only because at the same, St. Stanislaus' promenade was taking place with banners, assisted by the city counsel, anointed members and the Holy Spirit but also, and first of all because:

“Kraków, being a conservative city,
Whose residents live according to Christian values,
is not a suitable location for such a demonstration.”

Statement of Kraków Citizens Platform read, which stood arm to arm with The League of Polish Families and The All Poland Youth. In defending the morality of the country, as well as Catholics from the Association of Christian Culture.
Armed with rosaries.

The entire city was called to pray to “remunerate of sins, for Jesus and His Mother”. The fact that lesbians and gays are a social threat, while Szymborska and Miłosz were embedded based on honor and faith that both “not enough that Jews, to top that off, they are anti- polish activators, who try to demoralize and destroy Polish nation”. They hide behind Noble prizes and lick the Crucifix shamefully.

A couple of years later, in 2011, during the debates in Chamber of Deputies, Law and Justice representative, Anna Sobecka, publically stated that:
-“Czesław Miłosz insulted Polish people. His books are filled with diverse disdain in regards to Poles.

He taunts all the social layers. Miłosz insinuated that Poles are illiterate, peasantry is an “eyesore", that "peasants are reeking, stupid people that should be taught how to think”. Milosz also ridicules Polish working class that leaves the country in search for jobs- calling them “rat-o-polaks”. Milosz also taunts Polish Catholicism. Crucifix, he called touchwood, writing:

“Crucifix, you praise, because it is safe.
Wood you hold in your hand, and in that wood only touchwood.
Mumbled prayers, but still reek of fear.”
She cited running out of breath.


Damnation to the national Catholics, her funeral was secular.
There is room in Polish Culture for her Polish literary output.
Pro-Polish, no longer Anti-Polish.

‘Szymborska received a Noble for all merit for Sinaiticus establishment’
emotionalized some doctor of humanities and mason conspiracy theories.

“Judeo-Communism” scream others, whose fathers fought in WWII, but no
one is really sure which side they were on.

It really doesn’t make much different in what coffin you will lay
Where? When? In what sense and countenance
Your grave will be reopened repeatedly
They will praise your merits differently
And their tears, they will be ashamed of
(C.K. Norwid, 'What have you done for Athens, Socrates?')

Some weep, some slam the lid of the still open coffin.
And on they go, debating, analyzing, citing
Looking for a proof, pros and cons,
Juggling arguments,
For Gods sake. Really?!

You did not make me blind,
Thank You Dear Lord,
You did not make me gibbous
Thank You Dear Lord,
You did not make a child of an alcoholic
Thank You Dear Lord,
You did not make a hydrocephalus
Thank You Dear Lord,
You did not make a stutterer, lame duck, a midget,
epileptic, hermaphrodite, moss or anything from flora or fauna
Thank you for that Oh Dear Lord,
But why did you make me a Pole?!
[A.Bursa, 'A Thanksgiving Prayer with An Excuse')

No. No I am not weeping for Szymborska.
Just like I didn’t weep for Miłosz, Herbert and Lem.
Throughout the years, I’ve gotten used to
“exegi monumentum aere perennius”
The great ones leave, when they achieved everything...
when they finished everything...
You can lay flowers for them on pedestals.
You can burn their books if that is what you wish to do.
Really, whatever you want.