The Soul Carver

Hello, it's me again
I know it's been a while
I'm sorry I left so quick last time
Without a hug or a goodbye
You haven't changed
Look at these walls
This quiet place of yours
It always makes me wanna cry
Can I just sit here watch you work?
And later, if you have the time,
Will you carve...

Saint Neuro

tied to these large wheels
stripped from your freedom
not even hoping to 'get better soon'
even this white bread
became too heavy
and it's a struggle to leave the room
thinking that maybe
it's better not t'be
feeling like you're no good anymore
yet your sweet smile
wraps me so warm
your loving eyes
make his heart...

Every Mum

how can she be a saint
it's just a usual day
it's just an ordinary life
it's just a worn out dress 

how can she be of any help
with a child in her arms
shopping list in her head
beetroot stains on her palms

how can she be of any good
if she's busy cooking...

Ode to Grandpa

He, who was a perennial kid,
found joy in everything he did.
He, in whom youth was alive,
trusted his heart, not asking why.

He never judged any wrongs,
and raised his ash brows at know-it-alls.

And I remember, I knew him well.
He went through war, he survived hell!

Yet, when he rode his motorbike,
his smiley eyes cheered all alike,
and at the road bends he used to shout
his mighty roar:



© Copyright Beata Dagiel

Circle of Life

I am getting old. I know my worth.
I know my purpose in this world.
My life is fulfilled, my eyes are ready to rest.
Yet I am still sowing, even if I don’t see the harvest.
Woman's work is never done!

In my blood I carry so many of them.
I can't even begin to fathom how many,
and how different each one of them had been.
You can see them in my gestures,
in my wince,
in my speech,
in my eyes,
in my bones,
in my attitudes...
I am them and they are me.
The good seeds they'd sown...