Smolensk Mythology... Poem by Aleksandra Szymanska

This plane had Icarus's wings, but nobody ever knew...
Thick fog surrounded its engine, absorbed brains of the crew.
This plane carried flowers for those who didn't have to die.
It changed into a candle; nobody heard its cry...

I count the beams that stroke its eyes and its heart.
I still hear devil's anthem above its shattered parts.
I watch how it lands on deceit's bloodied square.
Coffins like plates for hell's feast are carried with such flair...

And those who carry them dance for their courtesan.
Faded lilac fills the air as they sing under her broad wings span.
But how did she get these gains, the rainbow feather and fame?
These are the stolen wings of that misfortunate plane...