Olenka, A Morning Sun (The Beginning)

Olenka, a morning sun

Olenka, a morning sun

Olenka, I call it, like Anton Chekov tell his heart in all pieces of days those running from his fingers. He always there, because in my silence I love your shining and his shining penetrate, lost and go between leafy. Shining that hopping, running and spy each other from branch to branch into leaves.

Olenka, a morning sun, so I call it, it calls me when the sun rises and remember when evening begins to dark. It was born from womb’s soul who I love. Born from sun that always rises in the horizon when my heart keep longing and loving that sink, specked between branches and leaves and sleep because of tired in the side of a dew in the morning.

Olenka, sometimes it seemed to me in the bird’s wing flying alone in the skywards – find his identity who shaking. That wing of bird embrace the wind’s blow and blowing it as morning breath before I enable to smell a cup of coffee or a slice of bread. I believe you more protective fly away compare me who always rastless about the image based on idealism of my truth, that I believe it is right but you are not agree.

Lord, Sun, You and she  – the little child, the wind’s blow, a yellow leaf, dew that fresh has penetrate in the swing of Olenka my heart, filling a piece by piece that never intact become an orchestra. Olenka, once upon a time he become my heart cooler in the middle of shining world that I never understand much. He comes in the flattery my longing of you, this night, Olenka is running again in the corner of my eyes. And handkerchief laying in the corner of empty room – dark – his gaze is cold – but frozen. Along night, waiting for Olenka, a morning sun.

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“PiS Juni 2011”
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Another Hurts :

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