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Tell me what’s the difference between hope and waiting because my heart doesn’t know It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope
Anna Kamienska
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Anna Kamienska
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Tell me what's the difference
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We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown.
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I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.
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There are things better left untouched by words.
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I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played.
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Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.
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Even a painful longing is some form of presence.
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This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death?
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Poetry is a presentiment of the truth.
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My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence.
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I returned to confirm there can be no return.
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