Finally, approval to exhume...
It's been so long.
It was painful to remember in a silent sob clothed,
It was raining at night thousands of tears...
Consent incomplete... partial...
They're inactive in the throat of unspeakable words...
About the pain that in the families of the line,
He's been choking for generations...
And yet all man,
He deserves a decent burial,
By the flickering flame,
Silent to him was a tribute,
By a stone tombstone,
He was faithful to his memory,
The name on it is engraved,
A silent witness...
Finally a worthy funeral...
Poles killed cruelly years ago,
Through human skins hiding beasts,
Disgrace and hatred at night drunk...
That terrible night in the Puffers,
A night-long orgy of murder,
Tens of helpless victims she brought,
She reaped the cruel death of her harvest.
Heroic Polish self-defence attitude,
Chaos, desperate exchange of fire,
It didn't aid much, and it didn't aid much,
When the attack occurred from respective sides.
Under the ruthless axe of blows
Badgers and cruel,
To those fleeing from the rifles,
All that remains is simply a corpse filled with ditches...
After so long,
The wicked suppression of painful truth,
To clothe her with lies sleazy,
The cover-up by propaganda,
Tens of years of deception,
Keys in global relations,
Sinister Attempts to Genocide Hidden Truth
They dismissed the requested exhumation time...
In the shadow of another war,
There's been an aversion to forced consent,
To let the murdered to celebrate,
On Polish lines in the Catholic rite,
From the lips of Polish priests,
In the shadow of those terrible crimes,
The words of Eternal Life have come to pass,
To put coffins into sacred ground...
Though the sufferings are unspeakable,
Millions of Poles at the ends touched,
Capturing happy childhood moments,
They fondly wrapped their memories with memory.
And erstwhile the sleep of the weary eyes close,
Memoirs in the moonlight enveloped,
Pilgrims at night to the sanctuaries,
Old from behind Bug displaced people.
And erstwhile many moon nights,
Old white haired,
They pray for their ancestors and relatives,
Let us besides pray for them...
For being murdered in the Puffers,
To the slain in all parts of Volyn,
Let our silent prayer flow,
Dressed in a beautiful Polish word...
- I'm sorry. A poem devoted to the memory of Poles murdered in Puźniki on the night of 12 to 13 February 1945 by a sotno from the curing of the Ukrainian Insurgency Army (UPA) Petr Chamczuk "Bystry".
