I'm sorry.♪ You've slobbered, Polish, white-red wings ♪
With a arrogant eagle, you hang there, hen, under the clouds,
A soldier's song, which is the deed of your heroes,
It echoed from the sea to the Tater of the Gran.
What strength is there in you, Poland, My country,
That you are inactive stubborn and arrogant to emergence from your knees
Some painful and bloody scarred,
With a starry diamond in the ashes, Homeland
That's how many strong men have betrayed you.
A nation to defile, to Bolsheva, but failed.
They ripped you apart, beat you, shot you in the back of the head.
The parent of God Katyń knows this terrible communicative well...
God, Honor, Fatherland - these holy words, holy cause
In her heart, she had an army engraved, called the Cursed.
Their father taught them this sacred thing in the cradle,
From their mother's milk, they sucked a prayer in the Polish language.
That they stood firm to the end of their freedom
Their teeth were minted, bandits were named, their bones were broken
Throwed into the pits with lime, covered in garbage,
Opluto, condemned to shame and eternal oblivion.
Today, after years, the fact from the ground is snoring
It's a series of large heroes.
The hive, Pilecki, Ince, Fieldorf, Szupaszka...
That they behaved in our hearts forever...
And let Poland proceed to hum white and red wings,
Let the white eagle proudly soars hen below the clouds.
A soldier's song, which the deed of our Heroes praises,
Let it echo from the sea to the Tater ridge...
Krystyna Śliwinska
Duszniki Zdrój, March 1, 2016
This wound won't cover you with white.
Not a soldier asked me, but a executioner in uniform.
Don't dress, let my blood land drink
civilizations will strengthen the doubted foreground
Let it drip red, let it spit red
As far as possible from the children of the homeland under the plot
Let no 1 break my grave
death more permanent than marble statues forged
Help me, take the rosary, the broken fingers,
I can't decision and pray is soothing
When they dragged me, I saw the sky crying
And the wall, the 1 who was about to fall, inactive stands strong
Don't hug me tight, or you'll get your robe dirty
wipe off the bucket there, the water is not stained with my blood
The ghost was crushed by the betrayal of the neighbors, like a rag
But you must endure undefeated by our strength.
And erstwhile I close my eyes sing about the orchards
Let me dream a walk on the spring path
I don't care about the sun. It'll do me good.
For the epitaph, the words I would do...
Shork
___________________________________________________________________________________
Poems of Maria Dorota Pieńkowska
Accommodation ‘L’
You let them lie down in green pastures
You let them lie on the Connector
under the cemetery wall under the sky under the sun
The full measurement of inhuman life on earth
Seventy years of silence, you let them know.
and lie and let you mock
Who saw the meadows
So red with blood?
Who has seen specified pastures?
The souls of them in your hands, Lord.
Their bodies in bloody lobes
white plate at the table
forever empty plate and crying
for a year and silence like a chaotic animal
at the door
They're standing on the telephone with their grandparents and watching
for the children's coffins of their young fathers
murdered for the first time
and second
and third
How small space a bone needs
A long time of flesh and blood!
They're going to take them far to Wolka.
Because they're utilized to waiting.
So they'll be waiting for dawn
who will come
Because the archeologist girl
So unexpectedly she stayed
Their mother
And a boy in a Boy Scout uniform
with fatherly tenderness
carries light bones
His Rotmaster
These children have already taken their own hands
They and our fate
24 August AD 2012
****
Only surviving fire
He can talk.
With you, Captain.
We bring you flames
For we know the nature of fire
The 1 you burned
We light his torches.
They're afraid of us
Like your gentle eyes
It's besides bright a look.
In which they saw fire
extinguished with elaborate torture
buried deep in this land
On which they live more and more
Still louder
To not hear silence
The silence that grows
and fills with fire
Cursed
You are not in the lines of skillful poems
what they can do
with flavoured colours
of each plant
with specified tenderness until fear
You're not here.
in a dream in love in life
in beautiful rooms
with wide windows
with good views
world
They don't want to hear about you.
Because you bring unnecessary questions to anyone:
Why life?
Why die?
Cast out like beggars
of all street houses
And the locks that were lifted from the ruins
Long Buried
uncomfortable like tight shoes
You stand barefoot helpless
on the time threshold
very tired of your death
Be patient.
They'll give you any room.
Just let the password go:
It's okay!
They'll bring you flowers.
Colours of fragrances
And what else will they find?
in useful lexicons
They're going to get to your feet.
empty ears of words
Zbigniew Herbert
An Angel Hearing
When she stands before them
in the shadow of suspicion
He's inactive alive.
of light matter
eons of his hair
They're tight in the lock.
innocence
After the first question
The cheeks run blood
blood is distributed
tools and interrogation
Iron cane
Free fire
limits
his body
hitting the back
fix the spine
between puddle and cloud
After respective nights
The work is finished
the angel's leather throat
It's full of sticky settlements.
How beautiful is the moment
When he falls on his knees
Guilt
saturated with content
language fluctuating
between billed teeth
and a confession
They hang him head down
with the hair of an angel
The wax drops are dripping
forming on the floor
A simple prophecy
