Art Arena's World Poems

Our Kind

A Poem by:

Monica Korycinska

Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

I reach out my hands
To the faces,
Empty and hard.
These pictures of old fences
Resting on the solid ground,
Staring at the people around
Are engraved in my mind.

Silent witnesses to centuries
Overcrowded with our kind,
Guards of their houses
With spirits rambling on their own,
Celebrating carnivals of lost souls
In someone else’s home.

I reach out my hands
To the faces,
Rigid and relentless,
I wonder if they are a mirror of my own,
Trying to find a piece of liveliness
In these faces of marble stone.

I sought the roots
On paths of trial and tribulation,
Searched for the cores
Of our mortal civilization,
Of our treacherous morality
And dark insanity.

Now I still don’t know
Ghosts of my ilk,
Mothers and fathers
Living centuries ago.
But these pictures I found
Of witnesses to our kind.

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