A keresés eredménye

Such a boy

Mister fate, give me somebody who will not roil the water in my pond,
Somebody who will not disappear like a bad dream
when my pond will run out of fish.
 
Where will I find the
beautifully good one?
Where will I find the
beautifully good one?
 
Give me a boy,
not a madman, don't give me
a smoker,
a poor man, don't give me
a drunkard,
a Polish man, don't give me
an ugly man.
 
Send me a boy.
Not a madman, don't give me
a smoothie,
a clown, don't give me
a drunkard,
a Polish man, don't give me
a poor man.
Send me.
 

Against the grain

You, my difficult love
You're crawling on frozen ground
On cobblestones from before world war 2
On patched up, stitched up pavements
 
Motherly tenderness is disappearing
In slaloms, dodges
Nobody wants to run away from here
To sell themselves to the Mermaid of Warsaw by the Vistula river
 
My imperfect home
Tamed, housebroken
Stroked into appeasement against the grain
This is where I live
 
My heart is throbbing in pain when
Unexpectedly
The nazi-parade invades again
The sadness of inner city backyards
 
Sunday silence at Krzyki street
The island rings out for worshippers
Of every religion in the world
Salvation steers clear from me
 
My imperfect home
Tamed, housebroken
Stroked into appeasement against the grain
This is where I live
 
My imperfect home
Tamed, housebroken
Stroked into appeasement against the grain
This is where I live
 

Kiss, bury

You will salt the eyes
And everything will work out
Please, just cry
Really cry
 
Squirm with pain
Excrete sounds
Tear your hair out
Bid farewell in spasms
 
Kiss me
Bury me
Kiss me again
I'm cold as ice
 
To throw soil on the face is the hardest
Burying me is much easier
Dig three metres with your feet
I'm already fraternising with bugs
 
Kiss me
Bury me
Kiss me again
I'm cold as ice
 
Kiss me
Bury me
Kiss me again
I'm cold as ice
 

Sopot

Between the points of my stops,
little pearls of dialogues,
there is this one.
Over cable and satellite,
the drops of life,
of moments, of words.
 
A freeze frame in the memory like a sieve,
selectivity of memories
brings this moment
when I got to know
that red hair is not a color
it's a character.
 
The freeze in Sopot
cools me well
after the heat in the compartment
on the tropically hot Polish State Railways train.
(x2)
 
Muscovado cane sugar,
a muffin with a berry,
lala hotel.
A beach white as a desert,
wind on naked shoulders
through the holes in the scarf.
 
Snow whirling below the cloud,
so hot in my heart
that it melts ice.
A red strand of hair and a snowflake,
Sinatra sings for us
the hundredth time.
 
The freeze in Sopot
cools me well
after the heat in the compartment
on the tropically hot Polish State Railways train.
(x2)