(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal
Devoted to English Language and Literature)
Alicja Maria Kuberska, born in 1960 in Świebodzin, Poland, now lives in Inowrocław, Poland. She has authored a number of books including poetry collections-‘The Glass Reality’, ‘Analysis of Feelings’, ‘Moments’, ‘On the Border of Dream’ ‘Girl in the Mirror’ and a novel- ‘Virtual Roses’ along with eight monodramas and a play for teenager. Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Belgium, the USA, the UK, Canada, India, Italy, Israel and Australia. She was the featured poet of New Mirage Journal (USA) in the summer of 2011. Her poem ‘Train’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011. In the 2015 she won the medal in Nosside and her poem ‘The Dance on the Dew’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Alicja was also one of the two editors of an artistic-literary quarterly journal ‘Metafora.’ She can be contacted at email@example.com.
1. Lost Data
I'm standing on an empty street accompanied by a cold wind,
which throws about pieces of paper and foil airily.
Rain drops whip my face and hands.
Darkness woke up windows of local houses,
their yellow eyes look at me with hostility.
I'm not going home, all addresses are unfamiliar.
Thoughts like a frightened flock of crows fly around my head.
I don't remember anything – fear chokes me, suffocates me.
I don't belong to anybody, loneliness drags me into oblivion.
I don't know my name and where I come from,
where I will find a safe shelter.
My handbag, the guardian of privacy, shut its mouth.
I have no documents.
I have no money.
Keys to an unknown door glitter.
A touch of an angel woke me up.
Regained consciousness shouts out my name.
I repel a bad dream from under my eyelids.
2. The Wonders of the World
I have never been to Hawaii.
Not for me, do the palm trees dance in the wind,
The sun’s rays do not caress my skin,
The hot magma does not flow from the heart of the Earth.
I have not seen colored hummingbirds
hanging like living jewels on the flowers.
The exotic and beautiful butterflies,
Similar to the fans of the Japanese geisha,
do not fly around me.
I have not climbed the steps of the ancient pyramids.
I have not seen the treasures of the pharaohs
And the huge Temple of Amun.
I cannot dance the Spanish flamenco
And I am not enveloped in a delicate, Indian sari.
The Amazon does not open the gate to the green paradise
And ruthless tundra does not lead to the white hell.
The ocean does not show its underwater treasury
And dolphins do not play on the backs of the waves.
I have not met a happy eternal love,
But this does not mean that it does not exist.
3. Beautiful Girl
She stopped on the street, looked around.
Slim and slender like a palm tree,
She almost reached the sky in her high heels.
She climbed high - above mediocrity.
Wind played with strands of her hair and short dress.
Delicate smile lit her face, gave her beauty
“Here is a woman from songs of King Solomon”
I thought with admiration and envy.
She attracted the eyes of many passers-by.
Her restless beauty stole the men’s thoughts.
I saw my reflection in a shop window,
And her picture in your eyes.
4. Death of a Home
At the edge of a village,
abandoned wooden cottage grows into the earth,
bowed with the burden of cares,
like a little old woman.
Curious rain peeks in through the hole in the roof.
It waters the slender birches planted
by wind inside the room.
In the windows,
remnants of curtains compete
with thick threads of spider webs.
The moon and the sun
take turns looking at their reflections
in the broken window panes.
Feral raspberries entwine the walls
with a thicket of green arms.
Tall Hollyhocks blush red among rust grasses.
Single pickets outline the grounds of the old garden.
Lush weeds overrule the fertile soil.
Each year, the rotten apple tree bears bitter tasting fruit,
enormous walnut spreads great fingers full of shade.
A once-modest Linden sapling
transformed into an enormous tree
and golden bees quietly humming a song of sweet flowers.
Industrious black ants slowly give the home back to nature.
They carry it piece-by-piece, straight to heaven.
There are many religions in the world, many rules.
It doesn’t matter to which God we pray.
In what language we speak the words.
We treat each man like a brother.
We need each other,
People are not lone islands upon an ocean.
In the moments when the sun disappears, and darkness falls,
When despair and sadness extinguish the will to live,
Someone will always extend a helping hand.
We are all heading towards eternity.
Like footprints, we leave along the way
Memory of good and bad deeds.
In this reality, we are but travelers.
Nothing is given to us forever.
We arrive naked and we leave naked.