You know you are old
when your late-in-life children become adults
and you no longer draw the curtains
like the swords your forefathers drew
in all the new—for them, at least—lands.
Now you can simply find some well-deserved rest
in the inherited armchair
or tomb.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
My twin brother doesn’t look like me at all.
True, his face, the whole body for that matter, does resemble mine
down to the last detail, yet it would be hard to ignore the crack
running right through the middle of that vile countenance.
But at least his hand is dripping with the same shade of crimson.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
As a kid, did you ever dream of creating something
unwittingly complicated, like the theory of everything
or a box of matches to light the stake, or practical—
another Antikythera mechanism, for instance—
only to realise years later that no one expected you to
because apparently, nothing beats the nine-to-five
on the way to the golden age? And they may be right,
but you know what? At least you won’t be crying
over pyrite.
Sometimes I return to the books of my youth.
They are the same and yet not quite,
partly because I read them in a different language then,
but also I have long since parted ways
with that whippersnapper.
Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say,
but to be honest, I can’t really call my life fun-filled,
yet five decades have flown by in the blink of an eye
without me even noticing, and now I’m staring
at a white-bearded face looking back from the mirror
and wondering what was the point in laughing
at that kid who thought fifty years was a long time
when I probably have twenty or thirty more to go
and can’t even imagine making it through a week
of family Christmas gatherings.
A clock can’t outlive time—at best, it can tell
that your autumn holidays are an hour longer
after you’ve decided you’re just an unassuming tourist
wandering the soggy back alleys full of perplexing words
in search of the greatest passage—but as it breaks,
you notice it’s not just its hands that stop.
If I were to play a word association game,
the first thing that comes to mind
when love is mentioned would be films.
I don’t know how well it describes love,
but it certainly says quite a bit about me,
especially since I’m writing this at 1 a.m.,
after a day spent in my pyjamas
watching ‘Une nouvelle amie’ and ‘A Single Man’
on loop.
hidden pilcrow 