Martin Kuchta

The light

Light on the wall

In my white room,

Seems a lot like all

That is a pleasure to me.


Light on the wall,

Is a hope and dope, actually,

It’s short and tall,

Hypnotising you continuously.


It shines like a white shadow

In a room which is darkened by white,

And time doesn’t play much of a role,

I realize that this illusion rules my life,

Clears it, spits on it, clears it again,

Crushes it and strokes it lovely,

Same as live itself. Such a shame.

Not knowing what or who is to blame

That my life is stuck

In the vicious circle of love without feelings

And the light on the wall


… is in my white room.



The feeling in the morning

when you feel coffee in your blood,

it starts when water is boiling

and you water that mud.


Smell of freshly poured black gold,

the steam that comes from the cup,

the moment you want to hold,

and want everyone to shut up.


Morning coffee is not just a ritual,

it’s a reason why we awake,

you are a proud coffee drinker – habitual,

since waking up is not a piece of cake.


Desire, by Martin Kuchta

The flood of emotions,

is said to be deadly,

like waves on the oceans

change into tsunami.


Life is a sad desire,

desire for food, drink, love,

desire is a wild fire,

a strong hearth shove.


And the ocean…

the ocean is never still…


Butterfly, by Martin Kuchta

Sitting and watching,

where, I asked myself,

that even a butterfly on a blank wall,

did not know which course he should fly,

just sitting and watching,

so we were watching together and I thought how to catch him,

hold him in my hand without holding his life,

let him fly through all these years

of my meadow life,

let him land and …

He waved his wings, gracefully,

I wanted to tell him

that he can’t change the world with a flap of his wings

but he believed in his …


The world is beautiful but in whose lap do you need to find it?