Vortex Of Surrealism

At the corner of the street,
where asphalt meets the sky,
I ponder what is right,
and what is merely illusion.
I wander through places
I’ve known since birth,
yet they feel foreign –
like walking down a street of crocodiles.

I look around,
and the world rushes past,
like a fleeting event
trying to escape me.
I hide behind trees,
where the rustle of leaves
is meant to drown out
the sound of my footsteps.

There’s nowhere to go,
nowhere to return.
I circle the pond,
where budding trees
give birth to new swans,
and their eyes watch me intently,
as if they know death
is just a step behind me.

I run back to the apartment,
through nature’s labyrinth,
which resembles the Tower of Babel –
everything here speaks a different language.
Shadowy figures emerge from behind the bark.
Do they want to catch me?
Or are they merely observing,
as my fate unfolds?

My heart pounds like a hammer,
and my hands tremble,
though they try to feign calm.
Sweat evaporates from my head,
the sidewalk stretches into infinity
like a highway to nowhere.
A shadow tries to seize my mind,
so I hide in my room,
behind cryptids that swirl
outside my bubble.

Life, which flows
through screens and algorithms,
turns us into shadows,
whispering to each other
in the void of a digital world.

We lose what is real –
like swans
they fly away,
leaving no trace behind.

—

The Darkness Of My Name

In the dark room
the night has no end,
shadows dance like ghosts,
They whisper my worst names —
the room dark, closed,
my whisper echoes off the walls.
“Believe,” I say to myself.
Though I don't know if I hear the truth.
The nightmare puts its hands on my shoulders.
I close my eyes,
and the memories flow down like rain —
familiar, foreign, sharp.

I drift through the images,
searching for myself,
pure, simple,
free of pain.

The darkness leans over me,
like a mother over a cradle.

The nightmare whispers in my ear:
“You are what you wanted not to be.”
The pain stays in the shadows,
faith in myself extends its hand,
whispering: “Get up. Again.”

—

A New Beginning

Oh, the wind that hums and sighs,
A wandering soul over the world silent.
It traverses the hills, gets lost somewhere,
But returns again when the dawn ends.

By Amadeusz Motyl