Where the silent angels of the statues,
They embrace with their arrogant gaze,
Extensive panoramas of medieval cities,
Looking eloquently to the horizon,
Where beautiful angels face,
Forged in wood, sandstone, marble,
Sometimes with honest gold covered,
Sometimes it's broken...
Over countries of the Visegrad Group,
There are inaudible angel whispers,
By stimulating our dormant emotions,
tenderly touching our hearts,
And all specified angel whisper,
For centuries-old traditions is simply a tribute,
Through countless heavenly armies,
With devotion in trust...
When in the heart of Europe,
The people of the grandfather's large grandpa are devout, hardworking,
Laying hands at night to pray,
They offer God trustingly the regular hardships
In 4 countries, secluded,
Where from all angle the communicative looks,
You can hear and whisper the angel,
Talking about what took time.
In the heart of Europe, 4 arrogant nations,
Faithful to their fathers of tradition,
To the world, they are a eloquent example,
Respect for native roots,
Polish, Czech, Slovak and Hungarian,
Proud, noble, steadfast,
Over the decades, sovietization has resisted,
An example for all mankind today...
Today erstwhile in the darkness of global lawlessness,
The Visegrad Group's idea,
Like 1 golden candlestick
Four candles of flame bright light,
The unbreakable bonding,
Between the 4 nations close to each other,
In the shadow of centuries of piety,
From heaven, angels present bless...
And from the sandy beaches of Pomerania,
Through the peaks of the Tatras that are sinking in the clouds,
Through the historical markets of Czech cities,
After the charming cafes in the Budapest alleys,
In each of the Visegrad Group countries,
Among the common everyday grayness,
Angel whispers can be heard,
Pouring comfort into the heart...
When in old wooden churches of Podlasie,
Move the praying old beads of the rosary,
By whispering quietly the prayers of his words,
By inviting their families with abundant graces,
Listening carefully to their angels,
When the darkness of the earth shall swell,
They carry them all before the throne of God,
To hear and fulfill...
When, among many Mazovia villages,
Where it's been forever for years
The past with the future inextricably intertwined,
They shall find the following days' running,
Old pious housekeepers,
Your great-grandmother's custom,
With a sharp knife,
They make the sign of the Cross on bread,
Also the identical cross sign,
In the bright morning,
The invisible hand of an angel,
Blessing the faithful God of the house,
To a regular simple meal,
He was blessed with angelic blessings,
Tasted like the finest dishes,
In many royal court...
When in the morning Kraków florists,
By paying more bouquet of the bundles,
They exchange pleasantries,
Often dressed in warm smiles,
Among the flutters of the pigeon wings,
When we focus on silence,
Sometimes you can hear angelic laughter,
A string of our sensitivity touching tenderly.
And erstwhile from the tower of the Gothic Church,
Among the bustle of the Old Town,
To all 4 sides of the world,
Mariacki's helm carries a melody,
Sometimes and sky angels,
Under the sky the wings spread out,
In focus they perceive to her sounds,
And secretly shed your invisible tears...
When in focus the Prague watchmakers,
They carefully repair old clocks,
For years he will change his full heart,
Putting honor in everyday work,
Sometimes invisible angels,
Carefully looking at their work,
Inspired to reflect,
Over the past of all mankind.
When sometimes the old gray-haired Czech,
Sticking a pint to the mouth of a golden beer
I'm going to miss you.
Remembering the years of his young,
Sometimes an invisible angel,
Putting his hand on his arm,
Touched by his longing,
He will sing his angelic song in his ear...
When in the shadow of the Slovak Tatras,
In the country's secluded rectory,
By wooden churches and churches,
Where time stopped a long time ago,
The devoted Slovak priests,
Taking the evenings into the hands of a brawler,
With devotion, making the sign of the Cross,
Laying hands at night to the father,
O prosperity of the Slovak people,
His ancestors entrusted with their inheritance,
In silence and in focus, they pray,
"And they are in tears,
Listened to by angels' windows,
Their tears are hot out of their eyes,
They will nanite their golden threads,
Like crystal beads,
To the top of Hiding,
When the night of dawn is scattered,
Before God himself,
To offer them to him like a gift...
As the golden sun rises,
Old Slovak Highlanders,
By grazing many flocks of sheep in the light dawn,
They're gibberish,
Sometimes a shining angel,
Though invisible to the human eye,
On the covered moss of the field,
He'll sit in his head and perceive to them...
When Hungarian street musicians,
Touching the lips of golden saxophones,
With gentle movements of hands,
The most wonderful sounds of them,
Sometimes the angels listening to them,
Standing on the corners of the streets,
The beauty of them moved deep
The heavenly ones sing their songs to them.
When the noble Hungarian ladies,
Gothic cathedrals exceed the threshold,
To the brass church treasury
With dedication to contribute generously,
Sometimes listening to yourself,
Before a richly adorned altar,
They'll hear an angel whisper,
Praiseing their good heart...
Apologize to the heavenly angels,
The graces of the Visegrad Group nations,
To always show courage and valour,
To centuries-old traditions of attachment,
By a centuries-old great-grandfather's legacy,
The gold was more valuable to them than all the world,
It always meant more to them,
Than the deceptive pursuit of modernity,
In the hr of an inexorable trial,
When the wind of past blows,
The behind-the-scenes were not deceived,
Proud Pole, Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary.
In millions of people's hearts,
The same kind of fire
What on the old battlefield battles,
What in national free uprisings,
On the present-day roads
Also present the signpost was to them
The ancient eternal truth,
Once upon the pages a chronicle written,
To respect past and spirit with integrity,
The faithful nations continue,
When others gradually die out,
Over the centuries, they turn to dust,
By Poles, Czechs, Slovaks and Hungarians,
Always honorable, loyal, and sympathetic,
As the brothers remained faithful to each other,
What they were raised in 1 house...
A poem published on 15 February on the global day of the Visegrad Group.
The thought of closer ties between the Visegrad peoples has always occupied a peculiarly crucial place in my worldview... In time, however, I began to wonder if it would be a good thought to effort to put the spiritual component into this idea... And so the thought of this poem was born...
This poem is an effort to insert the spiritual component (the guardian angel's motive) into the thought of closer ties between the Visegrad Group nations.
