Praznina
Dominic Chant
Dominic Chant
Poetry
Beyond Spirituality and Philosophy. Exploring the hidden. Interpreting Dreams and Visions. Dominic Chant possesses a profound passion for reading and creating Poetry. Through this path and here on this page, I will be publishing poems from my archives, as well as segments from the book: The Void (Praznina), which is yet to see the light of day.
Guardians Emerge from the ShadowI write this poem with my heart.
Do not seek the unexplored,
stay in the same place,
do not change your path.The owl is not alone at night,
secrets are secrets no more.
Every darkness and every wall,
has its own hidden eyes.The beast has limited time.
The spider weaves its web.
A downpour washes away the tracks.
A black cloud extinguishes the light.Do not think, extinguish yourself,
sin travels to the sky,
little time is left,
the guardians of light are not shadows.
I Am NotI am not like a leaf on a branch.
I am not on this earth just to let the days pass.
I am not like a stone to be trampled upon.
I am no rich man, I must work, but I kiss no master's ass.
I am not a man of quick anger; I have culture and a stance.
I am not a fool; I have dreams and my own path, striving to be righteous in the eyes of God.
I am not an ant; I am a man who scratches where it itches.
I am no saint, though I strive to be; I believe in God and the Man who paid for my sins, yours, and all the way back to the first.
I am not clean, and believe me, neither are you, so pray to God to cleanse us with the drops of His Son’s shed blood.
Hungry, O GodI sit on a soft chair,
made by my grandfather.
It’s good for the stones,
though sometimes my back aches.Now I don’t have much time,
I set the Rheum aside,
I pull out a cigarette, looking for a spark,
the paper waits, the brain is ready.They say money is everywhere,
I strain my eyes, I stretch my feet,
I pull up my tracksuit, tighten my socks,
underwear stuck between my cheeks.Where is it? I look and I search,
as I spread lard on my bread,
I can smell chicken in the air,
life goes on, it will not stop.You can't fight the force,
when there is no meat to find,
there are always fresh grapes,
and hungry, I believe, O God.
They Dream of EvilThey dream of evil, but they aren't evil.
They feed on the fall of others,
as if the first one broke them.
First there was light, then came darkness.Stupid stories give me a headache.
I live free, and that is what I love.
I make a path for the Word of God.
I pray to God alone.I do not listen to wicked words.
This one smaller, that one greater,
whether I am a saint or not,
God is the one who makes me happy.
From Abyss to AbyssMy step is weary.
From abyss to abyss,
I ask myself every day,
where does rest hide?There is no hope, no praise,
no light in the dark,
life passes, the days slip away,
once, we were young.I’ve learned a few things,
some from school, some from the old man,
some from the street, from a true friend.
There is no one; blood bleeds out.I’ve learned, and now I know,
everyone becomes like a volcano,
ready to destroy your dream,
in the end, you remain alone.
Better Times Will ComeOne day, the day arrives.
You will want to stop then.
But you won’t be able to, not overnight.
Neither forward, nor back.A sad day will come.
You’ll remember your own smile.
Where is everything now?
Vanished like dust.The words "I don't care,"
to you, they are no great wisdom.
So you choose to be silent,
in the dark, without light.Better days will come,
you tell yourself again.
Now for how many summers already,
what can you do? Nothing more.You don't have many choices, except—
to try just one more time,
to tell your own self:
don't worry, better is coming.
I Did Not Live in VainSome care, some do not,
they value you when you make them smile.
Sometimes some say thank you,
sometimes the favor is small.A good man, a good deed,
today everyone loves you,
tomorrow there is no one to be found,
so why does your head ache?Everything must pass one day,
continue to do good deeds,
firm faith creates miracles,
a hard life drives you forward.
Everyone must die one day,
it is the greatest school of life.Someone is watching your steps,
the sun shines, there is no fear.
Always do good to everyone,
someone is watching over it all.
May you have nothing to hide,
so you did not live in vain.
Feet Ache from RunningMy feet ache from running.
My socks reek of sweat.
The strong wind ruins my hair.
Minutes passed, almost in vain.
We search for a place of beautiful life.Are we dead at this very moment?
We search for yesterday, we search for something.
I pour water down my dry throat.
I feel hunger; I haven’t died.
From the rush, I feel the stench.
The body has grown weary.A stream of water feels so good.
There is no rest, or you are lazy.
Run far away from that.
I don’t know what else to say,
everyone needs a little rest.Run, hurry, just keep hurrying,
search for life and happiness.
Is there an end to this searching?
Sleep is calling; I must sink in.
The Pipe, the Mouse, and the Joyful FairyA bird cleans its wing.
The wind scatters dry leaves.
A little mouse tells another,
go play with the joyful fairy.An old man smokes his pipe.
A stranger passes by, muttering,
a life so heavy and full of bitterness.
The old man says: Keep moving!
The Graces of the People Are FadingSomeone lives, someone dies.
To one laughter, to another fear.
The world hides many secrets,
a scream echoes from the woods.
An empty stomach creates pain,
the graces of the people are fading.Red eyes in the night,
some say, like a wolf.
Whatever it is, it is not a wolf,
wisdom like that of a serpent.
The secret is not so great—
it is the hungry common folk.
A soul as precious as gold,
nothing but lies, it gets no better.An empty stomach has no will,
everyone is filthy with blood and mud.
The VoidThe Void (Praznina), which is yet to see the light of day, is not merely a collection of poetry and prose; it is the deciphered journal of a thirty-year pilgrimage. From the first verses inscribed in 1996 to the visions of 2026, Dominic Chant leads the reader through the raw reality of human existence.This work bridges the irreconcilable: the scent of sweat and hard labor with the aroma of incense and spiritual revelations. Through decades of exploring the hidden, interpreting dreams, and philosophical inquiry, Chant strips the human soul bare. He does not write of saints upon altars, but of saints in the mud—of people who sin, bleed, and hunger, yet never cease to gaze at the stars. This book is a bridge between the abyss of the subconscious and the heights of faith, a call to anyone who has ever felt empty to fill that very void with their own light.
Book Links:
The Void Praznina Coming Soon!
I wrote my first verses in 1996. It is now 2026, and I am still writing them—I believe I will never cease creating Poetry.All rights reserved © Dominic Chant