O mnie

Jestem jak droga polna, niczyja,  którą się mija,

Co nigdzie wiodła i wieść nie będzie, choć idzie wszędzie.

Dzieli mnie zawsze, tak jak tę drogę,
miedza od nieba,
a poco jestem pojąć nie mogę, bo mnie nie trzeba!

Nie byłem nigdy sobie, czy komu,
drogą do domu –
i dobrze życzę każdej godzinie
kiedy już minie.

Contact me

Ryszard Antolak



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Impossible Dreams

why was I not admitted as an equal to these flowers?

If you pick a poppy and take it home, it will die. It does not survive being cut and placed into a vase. Transient and ethereal, it symbolises all that is free and wild. It will not tolerate domesticity.  It will not be tamed.

Its slender, twisted stems are pellucid, almost invisible. The flowers hover like animate visions above the earth. They are blood stains on sky. Their colour bleeds into our domesticity, too hauntingly hallucinatory to be real, too ethereal be grasped by the hand.

The opium poppy bestows imaginative power and possesses the most powerful compounds known to soothe the pains of fleshy beings.

In his brief descriptive chapter on poppies, the 19th century essayist Edward Thomas writes:

“They propose impossible dreams of strength, health, wisdom and beauty, passion — could I not relate myself to them more closely than my words….. Had I offended against the Commonwealth of living things that I was not admitted as an equal to these flowers?

Ryszard Antolak

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