detail from: KRK Art dizajn

“Paris”

Poem in seven acts

French Alps

It's cold, and I wonder:

Does your heart tremble like

The peaks of the Alps under soft snow?

Why do you hide my weary face with your hands?

I thought you hated me.

Hemingway

In the garden that resembled a book,

In a room filled with tobacco smoke and countless

Read pages,

With strangers

I share languages and ideas –

Something over which none of us had control.

Now that I'm back on the streets

At an unknown time of day,

On streets that only see my coat,

Where everyone thinks I've lost my way:

I'm just a little tired.

Seine

There's no scent and no unrest;

Archaic river walls are the meaning of this world –

So proud and tall,

Painting with acrylics all the beauty of the city,

Painting the forests and people.

If there's anything more beautiful in this world – it's

Eden itself.

St. Bernard

Of all random wanderings,

I discovered everything druing this.

In a few steps, I:

Crossed the entire Arab world.

In a few steps, I:

Condemned both myself and them.

What are they celebrating?

I was intoxicated by the unpleasant laughter of these ignorants.

Château de Versailles

Only the noblest servant hands

Touched the walls of gold.

The palaces smelled of orange,

As if someone still serves them.

At all their balls

You wove a thick braid.

I look at your expensive portraits:

Your lips are like little cushions.

If love is just a word,

Why does it hurt so much?

Now that you're somewhere out there

Alone and beheaded,

I said: Long live the queen!

French Tower

Paris can't hide from your gaze,

Wherever it is,

You are still there,

Threatening it with your look.

Jealously, you tell it:

Hide all your beauties,

Forbid women to love,

Serve the worst wine.

You must be lonely at the top of the world.

Notre Dame

Your bells don't ring

With the same passion and power as after a battle;

Bells that mourned for Lazar

Now mourn for their coldness and silence.

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