
I'm walking through the cities and bridges
- supported by fragile pillars -
I go through temples, valleys and meadows,
the mouth of the rivers, the pulse of the oceans,
I wander in burnt forests
And I pass the mountains
carrying my Poland in a backpack,
planted over a 1000 years ago
on the banks of Gopal
- there was a nest.
It grew advanced like a poplar
repelling raids,
and baptism brought it together with Europe
(how different from today's
- stripped of rights and holiness)
and Poland grew united with others
- never with a sword, but with a solid settlement,
without prejudice to strangers
reaching hearts and minds,
carrying the sign of the Cross to the neighbors,
trusting the exiles and giving them rights,
Even offering a crown to foreigners,
which was a motion of large deception,
excessive tolerance,
And it yet brought us to ruin...
So the Republic of Poland died
for so many nations the kingdom of freedom,
Freedom for so many confessions and consciences...
It fell...for it was susceptible to hate
sipping on the east rims,
And the sabers only came in defense,
in a common move
in different valor
until there were no troops to defend the Constitution,
and the traitors in the capital frieved the throne,
As the Confederates over Newa made toasts
Leading the king to impeachment...
There was no turning back.
And come out victorious from the darkness of the storm...
We've lost the emblem and the boundaries.
without losing dignity and faith,
neither tribal memory,
She saved us that night of the cutting.
and in heroic insurrection breaks,
to fight independency against the world!
In my travel backpack.
I carry joy and pride from legions,
from the resurrected Republic...
Tore apart by invasion of 2 colosses...
Since then, my backpack has swelled with blood and ashes,
and after the war besides from blood
solid soldiers and all that,
What they died at the hands of a fresh occupier,
tortured and hidden,
shot in the streets,
When the steps asked for bread,
killed in the state of war,
which continued on and on,
assassins watched day and night,
even under a circular table
And we were not given to resurrect the Republic!
And after the Smolensk crime
the investigation and independency were transferred
And my backpack broke with a part of...
We're wandering in the fog, which has hidden the dawn
And we smoke candles trying in vain
brighten the day and the brightest...
And we sing like before -
God's Something Poland For So Long
he saw in Siberian thorns,
Make parent Always Merciful
The sign has made holy among the clouds!
Marek Baterowicz, Sydney 2020
We encourage you to get the book by Marek Baterowicz published by our association - stories about the "war of Jaruzel"- It's coming in the wound.