A Poet

The man with banal look
was believed to a jewel in the mud,
so she committed her lift to him
and kept brushing the dirt
off during her entire whole life.
After many a decade,
The jewel turned out to be a poet.
Her look can’t be described even in this poem.
Is she trying to dismiss gold as common stone?
Or she is trying to take a small rock as a treasure?
It is fortunate
her brushing didn’t start earlier…

A Hamlet for Poets Only

Lady poet’s well;
I open its light cover and look into it.
I can’t see anything – pitch black well.
I see why nobody opens the cover.

The hamlet nobody visits;
Not sure why I am here.
Its door is open but
I don’t see any footsteps;
How lonely her well is!

However, however, however,
dark wells surrounding her well –
even without covers to lift.
She wouldn’t be lonely.

In the hamlet for poets only,
They give cuddle to each other passionately.
They provide comfort to each other profusely.
They throw praise to each other lavishly.

In the hamlet for poets only,
I will dig my own well – deep and very dark.
A well for me only.

Profane Thoughts in Sunday Morning Mass

A self-proclaimed poet who has been walking
in a desert desperately looking for Hippocrene
for quite some time is attending Sunday Morning

Holy Mass alone. Alas! Two beautiful women enter
the sanctuary and take a pew right in front of the
nameless poet. Their not-so-cheap perfume arouses

poet’s imagination. They look intimate, almost too
intimate; they look lovely. They seem to love each
other; they must be lovers. How fitting in the holy

place full of Jesus’ love! The poet recalls the scenes
of last night’s les porno and replaces the actresses
with two women in front. Better than straight adulterous

lovers, aren’t they? God’s providence – the poet who
didn’t want to go to Mass was drawn to it and found
the beautiful image and wrote this weird poem – works

in mysterious way. The nameless self-proclaimed poet
got another big inspiration but it is too holy to mention
in this blasphemous poem. Thanks and Praise Lord!

A Poor Painter

A poor painter –
building the world only for him –
won’t paint people’s world.
That is why he is so impoverished.
A beautiful woman –
crouching down her body –
is looking for a crack
to get in his tiny world.
How small are you –
Trying to come into my world;
A bird nest that is too small even for me?

An obscure poet who
fills his empty mind
with his own world,
Is a poor painter.
Fill your void with me fully.
Perhaps if you can see the people’s world,
you could be still poor but happy.