Janet

Janet operates on some fuel – 
there’s a canister on her table
world around her might seem too cruel,
so she’s drinking it to feel stable

colored pink with outlandish flowers – 
Janet painted them to count years
lost in contracts and after-hours
and unsatisfied, it appears

got a linen dress from an island,
it began when she started travels
counting silently every mile, and
watching pathway as it unravels 

sending telegrams like it’s olden,
shortens words as if each one’s pricy
watching sunsets, exclusive, golden,
choosing dinners, exotic, spicy

and believing in strange conclusion:
nothing’s useless on freaking planet
even canister’s vague illusion
is enough to support a Janet 

to each their own

his name was Jahve like the god
of his believing crew
so he was preaching from the mud
things he accepted true
and others trusted, others fell,
and others took him raw
a hobo man without his shell,
with core that they withdraw

don’t pick the trash from pavement, son,
not in this holy town
his grandmom said to anyone
before she taught to run
don’t put your hands behind your back,
‘cause you ain’t got to hide,
and treasure life in every crack,
and help instead of pride

his name was Jahve, so he said
before they tied his hands
between the living and the dead
he’s built a decent fence
too early, Jah, to join the crowd,
stand tall, my son, and still
i’m watching you behind the cloud,
i promised you i will

because of YK

we all are just the little dots
in neverending space
if you have no idea what
are reasons for your race,

just stop, inhale, and think about
the fact that up above
there’s nothing. no disguise, no doubt,
no hate, not even love

the dots are small. we all are small,
the envy small, the greed
the “shaping universe for all”,
the everything we did

so in the end it’s only you
who always asks you why
the sky is technically not blue,
there’s technically no sky.

look at you

well now sweetie look at you
got a million days anew
are you spending one by one
every day until it’s done

do you travel really far,
putting sunsets in a jar,
minding business really small:
knitting universe for all

do you wake up just to bring
heartbeat on a guitar string
lightweight luggage not to claim:
passport, toothbrush, poems, name

well now sweetie look at you
treasure box you’re clinging to
is a beat inside your head.
travel far until you’re
alive

no tuba today

bigband plays jazz, but Noel doesn’t love it
tuba he plays has a sound of director
none of his own, and the worst thing about it – 
noone has properly checked her

eyes on the note stand make Noel disheartened – 
he cannot bear meeting gaze of a listener
he wasn’t born for this whole kindergarten, 
paying his bills like a prisoner

what he was born for is space meditations, 
clarinet operas, avant-garde rhythm
proudly admiring his latest creations, 
aching for musical freedom

after rehearsals there’s family waiting, 
students and chores, and repairs, and litter
only concertos that Noel’s creating
sound pretty gloomy and bitter  

aftermath

as if the number of your lives
is what you’ve got to choose
as if the remedy is prize
at neverending cruise,
as if this world has place for all
of us who’ve lost our path,
who feel both powerful and small,
and done the aftermath

so i’m embracing everything – 
the living and the dead,
the neighbor, trading wedding ring
for love she’s never had,
the grandma, saving memories,
the granddad, losing all,
and us who walk the earth at ease,
before we neatly fall

the envelopes of vinyl tapes
smell like the ancient books
what if we’ve chosen the escapes
just judging by the looks?
there’s mostly nobody to teach
that it’s just fine to quit,
so while it’s still within my reach,
i’ll tell each one i meet

backstage of life

is this the sea singing under my boat
is this the storm hissing under my heart
is this the universe staying afloat,
keeping the worries apart

seem insignificant, people and pain,
beach stones and universe washes away
leaves only those who are simple and plain,
those who are seizing the day

infinite oceans that turn into sand
grow into fossils for heirs to find
treasure and cherish or toss out and bend, 
waters have us to remind

violet fogs over troubled waters rise,
calming the restless and cooling the strife
this is the universe opening eyes,
showing us backstage of life

excuse me for being honest

excuse me for being honest,
I’m sorry for being fair
for doing the things I’ve promised,
for pushing myself to dare 

it’s nothing amazing, trust me:
you’re always a scaping goat
a fighter for rights and justice,
the one whom they hate the most 

excuse me for being candid,
to everyone equal straight
disarmingly barehanded,
too effortless to translate 

believe me, this is a burden:
plain lying would be a bliss
however, I know for certain
the reason for choosing this: 

it never brought me to anything good.
it brought me to everything good.
it brought me to everything.

are you ready

who is the king when the lights will go out,
who is the master of masters?
what will you do when you’re scared to shout,
guns in your pockets of plaster

what will you scream when you’re utmost afraid
will there be names you’ll be calling
will you be proud of creations you made
will you convert into holy

spirits of mountains and spirits of seas —
whom you belong to when dying
have you been thinking what happiness is
have you been literally trying

people you’ve preached to will never find out
backstage of courage and fear
so if you have to stand out from the crowd,
you are alone there, my dear

acceptance

let them exist, let them all just exist
wicked and beautiful, crooked and shy
sing in their showers and plant their trees
somewhere among them am i

somewhere inside very prominent crowd
i can create an identity of
somebody who’s neither sorry nor proud,
somebody ready to love

bus stops forgotten have stories to tell
i can imagine if cardboard could speak
what if we talk to each other as well,
wholesome, ambitious, unique

so if you think that i’m slightly too much –
poems too deep and emotions too loud –
look through the mirror, my arrogant judge,
let me exist in the crowd