I am a man of Poland, man in a land invaded.
I am but content, that my house has not been raided.
I walk up, to my silent home, why does my wife ignore me.
I see my wife and son dead on the floor before me.
JEW, JEW, on the wall in blood like a damned profanity
I look in fear at the madness and insanity.
Two months I have walked the earth and no relief I have yet found.
One day, I saw soldier push a Rabbi to the ground.
He sees the symbol on my neck and puts the rifle to my head.
I now know he wants to make me like the poor Rabbi, Dead.
I wrestle him and put his own bullet through his Heart.
He writhes in pain and hit the dirt, like a twisted work of art.
I know and fear that in hell, I shall soon sit.
But I am more surprised that I was good at it.
So that day, I sold my soul to the dark.
And longer can I walk amongst, the free and lark.
The kraut soldier walks down the street, I crouch down in the Dairy.
He gets a bullet through his head, first to fall to the Mercenary.
Very moving poem Aidan. I am 50% Polish. I did not suffer like this and I am very grateful. So sad. Very nicely written. Sincerely, Mary
lovely country poland, , gave us chopin and pope john paul 2.
Just in case, you didn't work it out, this is the prelude to my Mercenary poems
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An excellent poem Aidan, plenty of imagaryand content, well done.