Comments about Marek Swierad
For many years, I didn’t pay attention to it...
on the bank of the river a birch grows, right beside the water.
reflecting the white bark
from my dreams.
In the search for happiness
Rows of crosses are covered with the branches of willows,
small leaves wash out the past from tombstones.
Wading through the leaves of sins
I met you
you smile at a photo on a tombstone.
You are wearing flats that are the color of red...
...hot red lips.
When I look in the mirror, I see myself... without you.
The part of the mirror, where...