G R U D Z I E Ń 1981...
On that day December stood up with a light cold face
Surprisingly strangled, he repeated
The planet shone like lime individual bleached the orchards
Or like the place where the plague went recently...
Mothers in their homes whispered mixed prayers
So they asked for peace – for quiet nights...
And here the black flock rises up
And with wings crowing to the windows of crowbars...
Suddenly pulled out of a dream of power
Once again they measured the cage of their freedom
The bitches were snarling at the door
Once again they threw their bones at the future...
Hope with an anchor on the crosses
Surrounded by a cordon of blind hatred
She looked through port cranes insecurely
Will their desires always come actual
Many will wake up with fear
For Christmas, the shadow would not fall from a treacherous sphere.
Before hours of long steps our memory counts
Before the Fatherland hugs us...
On that day December stood up with a light cold face
It was dangerous to shoot from the Polish street
Thin scalded blood flowing in sweaty sweatshirts
They carried with dense breast-feeding their destiny Workers...
CREATE FLOWERS
Standing troubled December before the threshold of houses
This winter Black Flowers grew in the snow
A trembling flame wandered in darkened windows
Crosses were only shining on a distant shore...
The cold place at the table was silent with reproach
Motherland unwrapped bloody bandages
Under the ground, people were blind but in tired hands
They carried like a cloud of freedom on a banner
Black flowers grew this winter in the snow
God walked - each of them touched his hand
We stood in awe of the extraordinary view
Because...he turned them into thorns... and put them in temples...
WORKER TEST
It's us between the pavement and despair.
Humility of the helpless and naked
On banners we carry high
Our cry and reproach - the shame of power!
In the coffins, hope closed
Black Work Blood Victim
From Gdańsk ...Meetings...or Radom...
You're making fun of me today!
The 1 on our backs was coming in
To the heights of power let him remember
That what blood is written
It's always a sacred thing to us!
And this will is bleeding
Through our brothers by the hand of faith
We'll emergence again erstwhile we have to
Over the head of power with a fist of punishment!
From all angle of our poverty
From cold blocks – empty halls
We'll go out and join the way.
Turn our bitter grief into rebellion!
Polish eagles will descend from the monuments
And the crosses will cast anchors again
And a wave of anger will flow
Which will flood the streets
And we'll settle to ten.
Each of the commandments of the Polish valley
And no 1 will bargain from us
From the holy Fathers of our will!
It's us between the pavement and despair.
Humility of the helpless and naked
On banners we carry high
Our screams and outbursts! The disgrace of power!
