I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t,

when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.

~ Anna Kamieńska ~


Inside my womb     I hear voices crying     yours – mine – ours     execrable sounds

exterminate – irradicate – annihilate – mutilate – liquidate – deface – butcher – extinguish – terror

I turned my attention to – our vocabulary – flooded with words to crystalise only one word:



black – white – yellow deaths – a child screams – a blood stream of images –

we are the problem of our own humanity


what am I here for?

to create art and worship poetry?

to make love to love?

to dream the Great Dream inside a dream?

to infect you with a smile?

to whisper to the sea my endless tales of human sufferings?


I no longer pray  – I scream – howl – cry

for a solution to the problems of humanity


– fiercely –

I wonder about our self-understandings

our essential sensibilities

our capacity to create and then to destroy



inside my womb I hear voices crying

for peace to illuminate every person,

cell, vein, artery,

for wars to end for the sake of our

children’s children – our children – ourselves

and ~ for my knowing what to live for.



image 1: inside my womb [mixed media on wood]

image 2: execrable sounds [digital dialectics]