Krzysztof Kamil Baczyński
They have parted you my boy, from dreams trembling butterfly
And embroidered in my boy, with rusty blood, sorrowful eyes
They have painted lucid landscapes with a yellow fiery stitch
Sew on narrow hangmen toggles, buttoned shut creased sea of trees
They have schooled you, little son, in your earth, by heart
When you've carved with iron tears so many paths
Brought you up on milk of darkness, fed you up on loaf of fear
and blindfolded you've traversed in most shameful human ways
And you went out, my bright son, with black rifle into night
And you sensed it, as it bristled under tones of minutes - vile
Twas your last breath, yet a blessing your hand laid upon this earth
Was it bullet bursting, sonny, or the sound of shattering heart?
[transl. Piotr M. Salomon]
No comments:
Post a Comment