One poem per day, please don't misbehave

Hi! We have some poems with nice paintings for you, so you can show off in front of friends! We have to imbibe culture sometime! Every poem was translated by ourselves and we aren't pro, so please, give us some love. We're trying our best ❤ Cześć! Mamy dla was parę wierszy z ładnymi obrazkami, by się ukulturalniać na tym paskudnym świecie, a co najważniejsze, możecie zaszpanować cudnymi cytatami przed znajomymi! Gorąco zachęcamy was do poszukiwań wierszy po przeczytaniu wybranego przez nas fragmentu ❤

[culture-biatch]

I'll enwrap yet in dusk, in  night's rose-flower and as branch, scrap, or  gesture, the world will turn, then it will mutely stagger, pass through the eyes like a  blur and I'll say: not being-I  am.

[culture-biatch]

why does she stare like that I think I must go I say a little too loudly 

and I leave her, a lump in my throat

[culture-biatch]

Die—you  can’t do that to a cat. Since what can a cat do in an empty apartment? Climb the walls? Rub up against the furniture? Nothing seems different here but nothing is the same. Nothing’s been moved but there’s more space. And at nighttime no lamps are lit.

[culture-biatch]

I don't want to be a princess from fairytale anymore, but let heart’s bell beating not stop Just fall in love one more time. ah, one more time

[culture-biatch]

Who cares if the night and  the dawn perish, the light of the moon and  the sun – only make him sink in me like the music of a violin. When it touches my heart I will play the sweetest  part – him.

[culture-biatch]

The sun in its setting tugs across meadows A  large cloud's shadow, pulls it up hills Which are knit with the sky - the sky which prolongs Life guttering out when the colours compel - Into depths of dream

[culture-biatch]

There is nothing but leaves that have died on the trees, Nothing but winds that blew through Nothing but traces of splendor that have already disappeared. Nothing else will happen. Everything has already happened.

[culture-biatch]

To our souls Thou seemst a true Moon, Whence a beam we mark of endless Mercy, as vile sin bears on us Sorry night's ponderous shadows! 

But upward, our Dawn's Morn, arise, Thy Sun's craved light to disclose!

[culture-biatch]

I know men of bold words who getting drunk by sound they are fighting by Armada of speeches they are drown out (everything) with this jingling speeches, but the act surpasses the growth of their heads.

[culture-biatch]

To fall asleep! .... This cloudy, starless night, is a bottomless pit of gloomy views - to fall asleep, lay down burning head on nirvana’s lap, unmeasured tired...

[culture-biatch]

A little space she grew beside us here, Then Death came, breathing pestilence, and she Fell, stricken lifeless, by her parent tree. Persephone, Persephone, this flow Of barren tears! How couldst thou will it so?

[culture-biatch]

And when the hero dies during defense, You will go down in an angel's robe And put a wreath of glory on his temple - You'll sing the victory at death And he will have a cheerful death.

[culture-biatch]

He fell from her knees like  a ball of yarn. He unwound in a hurry and  ran blindly away. She held the beginning of  life. She would wind it on her finger like a ring, she wanted to preserve  him. He was rolling down steep slopes,  sometimes he was climbing up. He would  come back tangled, silent. Never will he return to the  sweet throne of her knees

[culture-biatch]

The word "love" no longer had in itself benches, shadows,

embraces, warmth, passing. It was another bland stone of those, which language - hurting - heals.

This one was kinda hard, cause in polish word “język” means language and also  tongue. And “kaleczyć język” which is “hurting/wounding” means “speking incorrectly” 

[culture-biatch]

Love doesn't care about high classes in the world, About great possessions, about a lineage. Epigram have it’s dowry always ready And the king likes peasant, peasant likes queen.

[culture-biatch]

I kissed you passionately, my beautiful love, And that kiss was like a sugar to me But I paid for it, for an entire hour I suffered a heavy torment for such light guilt

[culture-biatch]

As we were, my friends, does anyone still remember us? Will the legend adorn us beautifully, will we go to the bottom? We lived like on the wind, we lived not very properly, we lived dangerously but what a life it was! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ4Iv2-HVdY