Poet-Today ~ Michal Musialowski ~ The Arts-Muse Fair


There was a time
Sweet, sweat time
Water turning into wine
Spring aborting life
Tame and shy

There was a time
of a shadow and a cross
hanging across the road
on a bed of nails

And so Sybil said:
"EineWahrheit, ein Land, einGott!"
and we died like dogs
"Beautiful dogs!"
trying to understand
and stand under
the regime of middle-aged Gods
while nervously sucking
rotten milk from Madonna's breasts

When we took the sandy path
the swarm was beyond Caronte
flowing into the heart of darkness
into the inferno
like a muddy river of sperm
mixing with the salty Mediterraneo

Among oil stains and fish
we swam


In the beginning was the Word
That ripped the silence with violence;
My beginning is screaming with my end
Echoed among crossroads of alleys

The shades of me
Lie in fragments and await
Like an agonizing patient
Cut by the injustice of a new dawn.

The moments will scar with the unknown
Carried by raindrops of thunder

In my beginning is your Word
That ripped the violence with silence;
The fragile light shivers with the unknown
Waiting patiently for the wonder

The world whispers the lonely notes
And trembles with the will of surrender;

The savage dance of gasping souls
Stutters speechless
In trembling drops

And the rain stops.

On the other side of the train tracks
Let there be a piece of a feeling

In my end is my beginning.

“I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison”
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
I’m breaking the wall of the walls around me
To reach out and flow

With the cacophony of cathartic casualties;
 The notes of a dawn rub against the tide
- The evening spreads angst -
(rage decomposing on a grassy soil of love)

Remember the dying stars;
So blinding bright
To awake the corpses
And feed the soil with seeds of light
When the spring was yet to come
They sailed
Around narrow scars of a gasping past

And the rooftops were covered with dust.

I’m sewing the scars for the years to come
For everyone I loved
For everyone I love
Does the water flood my river with dreams;
Unreal scenes (a suicide of the night)
Unspoken sins (screams)
I celebrate alone
The handful of life
Dropping from dead trees

And the rooftops were covered with lust.

Shadow-painted lips kiss in a broken choir:
“At the funeral of the day
I will be wearing nothing
But the crown of thorns
Of my fearless desire”

The crosses on the map
Mark the silent crossings
Of our vagrant alleys
The evening spreads us

Like a million tiny seeds dancing in the fire.


Michal Musialowski is a poet, organiser and scholar born in Poland. He lives in Germany where he teaches Migration and Cultural Studies and researches Nigerian Poetry at the Carl von Ossietzky University in Oldenburg. In 2019 he visited Nigeria where he encountered Nigerian literature firsthand, met and engaged with Nigerian writers and academics.