Bozena Helena Mazur Nowak

Do not ask me to be silent

It is difficult to tell the heart: "do not cry"
For that which is buried in its depths
It is difficult not to write that it yearns so
Away from home somewhere in a foreign land

My memories are like icons
For which I care very tenderly
I pull the memories out of my mind
In place of lullabies for my granddaughter

Though my own grandmother is gone, she lives in my heart
She and her cottage on the rushing stream
I remember well that the cottage was blue
A garden full of hollyhocks, snapdragons and bees

The meadows carpeted with red poppies
Weeds in the crops, with which my grandfather battled
Blue sky, above white-tailed eagle
And in that meadow I flew kites

White mare with a soft muzzle
Would place her head gently on my shoulder
And with a childish glance I'd chase
a young colt romping behind the barn

Perhaps I will never again see that
Which lives deep inside my heart
But I will write of it when longing strikes
And I will draw out of my heart that which is dear to me

So do not ask me anymore, to be silent
Because my heart is so very weary
It must unleash what is hidden at its bottom
So it may be washed with dewy tears

(painting © Jolanta Zaniewska - mallows)

Submitted: Saturday, July 05, 2014

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