This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death? — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
Tell me what’s the difference between hope and waiting because my heart doesn’t know It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
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 Kamienska Copy Share Image
This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you… — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
“No home anymore. Nowhere to return. My house is a ruin, a cemetery. You may yearn for the grave, but just try living there.” — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
“Lack of Faith" Yes, even when I don’t believe— there is a place in me inaccessible to unbelief, a patch of wild grace, a… — Anna Kamieńska Copy Share Image
My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the… — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being. — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
The way a source strains toward the light, toward the air. Its laboring work, its effort, its black passageways like despair. That’s the way… — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played. — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that. — Anna Kamienska Copy Share Image
