..
Than the grass
Tickling his face-
o
mother it is so far,
o
father it is so deep,
And so unlike your bodies
It is cold and steep,
Not a place for sleep ,
A mute and monstrous
Darkness in which hunger
Feeds on terror and terror
Devours hunger when your voices
Warm no longer
One who,
Unreturned to day's bottomless
Blue, swims in a slow-motion race
Through measures of unmeasure,
In himself a buried treasure .
Tomasz Jastrun
SNOW
On the crawling bellies of the tanks
The snow falls
On the stunted eagle
Printed on the soldiers' caps
The snow falls
Through the chinks of our broken homes
On the policeman who looks for me
And on the flowers
I didn't get a chance to buy
The snow falls
