We come to you from faded photographs
rising in pain from our death,
Sempre fidelis we have fallen cursed,
But our killers are dead...
We're inactive alive while someone's hands
bring poppies to our cemeteries
- among cereals broken in Polish dirt –
and crosses in the fields bent
Let the brightness light like stained glass,
Because darkness has been holding us captive besides long...
Then we will see that this was not the end of the road
And our hearts will beat like they utilized to,
and Poland is battered, somewhere at the bottom,
The cry of millions of tears and fear
When she realizes she's all alone...
also abandoned by false people
and cornered from all sides like a deer
At gunpoint of drunken traitors and hunters...
And from the voices of the trees like birds
ominous words float higher,
that bad people want to start a war in their hearts –
And Poland would burn? number the crosses again?
They're lewd and unworthy.
They see us all like soldiers cursed
- and capable of many crimes—
They spare us no mortal thorns...
But Poland is immortal and sacred
And he calls to you for centuries,
Her singing will be heard in God's birth,
And we always gotta remember that,
erstwhile her voice is stifled by the peers!
28.IV.2025
Marek Baterovich
