Aisha Baranowska

Aisha Baranowska Poems

dearest of my heart
my second half of the apple -
so what, if prohibited...?

Cry the violins of dawn
on the strings of empty skies;
the song of sorrow, hope and love -
solitude starved of affection,

Aisha Baranowska Biography

I was born as Carolina Patricia Baranowska in Kraków, in Lesser Poland, on the 01st of April 1988. Since early childhood, I write poetry in many languages. I was 3 years old when I learnt to read and write, and 9 years old when I wrote my first poem. I started writing poetry in French at primary school as I had French classes then, and later, in the college, also in Italian. A couple of years ago I taught myself Spanish language from the Internet and since then, I write mostly in Spanish. Because I have been learning English since childhood, too, and now, I live in Great Britain, I also write poetry in English which I publish via Gold Orchid Publishing. My influences are: Dark Romanticism, existentialism,19th and 20th century poets. My inspiration is, first of all, music - and the emotions it produces, the images it evokes - as well as the beauty of wild, sometimes dangerous nature - and the harshness of human existence; the great tragedy of life... I admire Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Baudelaire, George Gordon Byron and English Romantics, German Romantic movement, Renaissance and Baroque European poets, Polish Romantics and generally,19th century literature, Polish Renaissance poetry. This is my author profile.)

The Best Poem Of Aisha Baranowska

To E. ****

dearest of my heart
my second half of the apple -
so what, if prohibited...?

I have cried
rivers of tears
oceans of despair
cold like the air
of a lonely dawn...

beloved! canst thou see
my great desolation
the amount of my love
canst thou perceive...?

if so, speak a word
let not my ears
meet with silence of the grave -

thy soul I crave...
thy charming ways
are my truest obsession!

thy guitar's otherworldly sound
my spirit doeth annihilate

and the glow of thine eyes
freezeth me to death -

oh, why must I know thee late
to share thy loving
and in thine arms give away last breath...!

woe! who loveth without hope -
whose days and nights have melted
into one mournful entity

who cometh and who goeth
without staying long in any place -

at mercy of her cruel fate...


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