Hunting isn't just about the catch, it's also about patience, connection with nature, and a unique perspective on the world. These poems reflect on people for whom the forest and field become an arena not only for survival but also for self-discovery. There's no romanticization of violence here, only an attempt to understand the motivations, feelings, and destinies of those who choose this path. These are stories of silence, anticipation, and the fine line that separates man from wild beast. These poems are about those who appreciate the moment and respect the laws of nature.
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First snow
The forest is silent, as if in oblivion, And the first snow falls on the fields. The hunter gazes into the distance, in his dream, Where life and death dance without me. He awaits his hour, in deep silence, When the path opens to him. And the silence, like a whisper outside the window, Will remind him of the fate that awaits in the forest.
Morning in the swamp
The fog over the swamp, like a gray ghost, And drops of dew glisten on the grass. The hunter creeps along a difficult path, Where marsh birds quietly cry. He knows every root and stump here, And the whisper of the sedge, and the splash of the water. He greets the dawn like an old friend, Far from worldly vanity and troubles. Here time flows by its own clock, And thoughts become clear as crystal. He feels a connection with the forest, with its voices, And in this harmony he finds a haven.
Forgotten number
In his jacket pocket, a crumpled piece of paper, a forgotten number, someone's name on it. The hunter is silent, like an old wolf, in the forest where he roams day after day. He remembers a face, a smile, and a look, but time carries away memories. And it seems as if all this is just hell, an illusion, a phantom, empty suffering. He followed tracks that had long since cooled, seeking solace in the forest silence. But the wounds of his soul still carried, the pain of the past that lives in the darkness. And the forgotten number, like a symbol of loss, will remind him of what cannot be returned. The hunter will sigh, and believe in the forest again, in the hope of finding at least a little comfort.
Reflection in the water
In the lake, quiet as a mirror, the Hunter saw his face. Tired, wise, like the past, and the forest's ring was reflected in it. He thought about life, about his duty, about those who had gone and about those who would come. And he understood that everyone here is drawn by something, and everyone bears their own cross in this life.
Forest Conversation
The hunter had a leisurely conversation with the owl, about the secrets of the night, about fate and dreams. About how the world changes over the course of a year, and how sadness flies away in the sky. The owl listened silently, casting its wise gaze upon the man in the night's silence. And it seemed as if it understood everything, and knew the answers to all the questions within me. The hunter left, leaving the owl alone, in the forest where eternal peace reigns. And I realized that in this silence I heard the voice of nature, calling me home.
Old hunting lodge
Far from the roads, in the depths of the forest, stands an old house, forgotten by people. It remembers the mischievous laughter of hunters, and the crackling of logs in the stove burning in the distance. Here, time stands still, like in an old movie, and every object holds its secret: hunting trophies, an old rifle, and the smell of a campfire floating in the gloom. It has seen both joy and the bitterness of loss, and knew that hunting is more than just a game. It is life, it is a challenge, it is an eternal debate, between man and wild nature, time. And the house stands, a witness to time, preserving the memory of years past. The spirit of hunters that lives within these walls whispers that everything will return.
The last shot
In the sunset's glow, the forest suddenly fell silent. The hunter raised his rifle above his head. The last shot, the farewell sound, And the echo resounded above the silence. He saw a deer, a beautiful beast, Standing proudly at the forest's edge. And he understood that life is an eternal measure, And death is but its dark cup. He lowered the rifle, and tears streamed Down cheeks chapped by wind and snow. And he understood that he could no longer shoot At those who also live on this earth, with God. And the forest fell silent, as if in respect For the hunter who renounced evil. And in this silence, full of humility, He found the peace he had sought so long.
The Path of Oblivion
In the dense forest, where the twilight eternally sleeps, the path of oblivion leads to nowhere. The hunter walks, and his heart aches, For those who have passed, and for those who always wait. He remembers their faces, their voices, And knows that time does not heal sorrow. And every step, like an echo of a voice, Reminds him that life is a distance. He followed tracks that had long since grown cold, Seeking solace in the forest silence. But the wounds of his soul still carried, The pain of the past that lives in the darkness. And the path leads him further and further, Into a world of forgotten hopes and empty dreams. The hunter is silent, and his heart is afraid, At the thought of being truly alone.
Autumn migration
A wedge of birds in the sky, a farewell tune, Autumn migration, the call of distant lands. The hunter stands, and in his heart a tune, That he, too, is but a guest in these lands. He sees the leaves swirling in a dance, As the sun sets over the horizon. And he feels a connection with nature in nuance, And understands that life is a moment, like a dream.
Meeting with a wolf
In a dense forest, at night, a hunter met a wolf alone. In the predator's eyes – a challenge, a calm, And in that gaze – eternal peace, like a wondrous dream. They stood silently, in silence, Two predators, two lords of the forest. And each understood that in this war, There would be no winner, only pain and tears. The hunter retreated, and the wolf disappeared, Into the night darkness, like a ghost, like a shadow. And he understood that in this forest without tears, You cannot survive, you cannot find change. And the meeting with the wolf, like a sign of fate, Reminded him that life is a game. Where everyone is both their own king and their own slave, And everyone must choose their own path, it's time.
Frozen river
The river is frozen, bound in ice, The hunter walks across the fragile glass. He remembers how the waves splashed here then, And how the fish played in the moonlit corner. Now there is only silence and white space, And the wind howling in the forest wilderness. He feels alone here, like a thief, And searches for tracks in the snowy silence.
Echo of a gun
In the high mountains, where the air is pure, the echo of a rifle resounds in the silence. A hunter stands, a leaf in his heart, the autumn sadness that lives within me. He sees an eagle soaring in the sky, and feels freedom and flight. And he understands that in this world there is nowhere to find peace, only an eternal countdown. He followed the wind's trail, searching for prey and searching for himself. But in this search, full of contradictions, he realized that life is but a game, a fate. And the echo of a rifle, a symbol of the hunt, will remind him that everything passes like smoke. The hunter sighs and returns to the forest, hoping to find at least a little peace.
Winter's Tale
In a snow-covered forest, like in a fairy tale, a hunter walks, admiring the beauty. The trees are covered in frost, like a mask, and the silence is filled with a dream. He sees tracks on the white canvas, a hare, a fox, and even a bear. And here he feels as if in a dream, far from the vanity and troubles of the world.
Old dog
An old dog walks beside the hunter, a faithful companion, a friend for many years. He knows all the paths, all the secret places, and senses danger from afar, always. He remembers hunts, victories and defeats, and knows that life is an eternal journey. And in his eyes are wisdom and humility, and a loyalty that cannot deceive.
Evening bonfire
An evening fire burns in the forest. A hunter sits, gazing at the flames. He recalls the days gone by, and thinks of what awaits him ahead, like a horse. He hears the crackling of logs in the silence, and feels the warmth on his face. And he understands that in this world, as in a dream, finding peace is the greatest happiness, as in a crown.