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Month: June 2020

To my friends

Published by Ondrej on June 30, 2020

To my friends:
now, a new chapter begins.

You, who have stood by me
while all else deserted;
You, who could see
what really mattered.

Those of you I joked around with
or engaged in staring matches
being normal: a myth…
You, who also had sweat patches.

Then there were those closer;
more than just friends
those to be hugged tighter (or pushed further)
to steer clear or worship as godsends.

The Beethovens and Puccinis
astounding, so incredibly talented
others, as dry as ten-day grissinis
or like ancient blades—blunted.

Peculiar, bizarre or perplexed
your faces have been;
while I was not vexed
some things cannot be unseen.

The future world leaders
and the future garbage men
all learned literary readers
some wishing they said “amen”.

The party animals
with seemingly bottomless bladders
others, mammalian cannibals
starting already to climb career ladders.

To be very brief, indeed,
it matters not whence you come
or what devils you believe in;
it’s the shared experiences:
those are second to none
and the cameras we have smiled in
putting aside our differences.

I have a message unsmall:
I love you all.

The sweet morning breeze

Published by Ondrej on June 8, 2020

Upon these Wallooon fields
Of wheat, cabbage and barley
Where the sweet morning breeze
Brushes all thoughts aside.

They may be of loves past
Of loves in the future
Of self-reflection
Or the entire human experience.

It matters not;
They are all blown away
Far, into the distant clouds
By the sweet morning breeze.

Morning orchestra

Published by Ondrej on June 1, 2020

Waking up at the crack of dawn
appreciating the navy heavens.
On the way, thoroughly empty, deserted roads
befriending cats and rats;
for they are the sole souls present here.

Arrived: not silence, but an orchestra
a crescendo of birdsong
and those pesky croaking crows
it’s vomit to my ears
(a rather unpleasant sound);
but then arrive the tits and sparrows
like the violins and cellos,
adding to it all, now more than mezzoforte.

Going towards the lakes these mirrorlike earthly reservoirs of life
not one, not two, not three—but about a million
(a very accurate estimate, believe me)
bleating frogs in unison.
But all falls to silence once the fiery ball comes into view
the ball still covered in cotton wool and packaging pellets
there they are—floating.
Who would have thought that they could, too, be
sources of life and blessing throughout civilisations?
The morning orchestra continues.

June quarantine

Published by Ondrej on June 1, 2020

On this first day of June
there is still nothing new
as much uncertainty as before
at least it won’t continue on for evermore.

Can’t help but think what will happen:
will our generation sadden?
What about all the young love
deteriorated from beautiful to pauvre…

Who knows—all we can do
is enjoy the morning dew
and perhaps recall
the one day we ate a whole pizza and all.

This pen

Published by Ondrej on June 1, 2020

Why do we write about love?
Why not instead about this pen:
this pen, so many words to come out of it
leaving its mark on the pulverised wood.

Whenever, wherever, always ready to spill
to divulge its contents upon this pressèd sheet
not a screech, not a sound—always willing
willing for its ink to do its spilling.

If only people were so willing
to be loving, to be kind.
Instead, they just enjoy drilling
into the depths of each others’ souls.