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Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/30/2019

There, in my country, in a faraway land
a hundred dimmed stars shine in a crown,
one hundred extinguished stars above the field stand,
like a hundred knights in an iron armor clad.

There, in my country, in a faraway land
one hundred red-hot hearts with longing burn,
one hundred red-hot hearts pound in the chest
like a ghost into armor iron plates.

There, in my country, in a faraway land
one hundred winds are galloping through fallow lands,
one hundred winds are galloping through the steppe trail
like one hundred steeds' golden horseshoes beating the ground.

And when one hundred days, one hundred nights shall pass,
with hearts full of power knights will rise,
knights will rise, horses will mount,
and they'll light up stars in the golden crown.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
Maria Konopnicka's funeral was attended by almost 50,000 people, and to this day this great poet has her special place in the hearts of ordinary Polish people.

Konopnicka's poetry has a pinch of Hans Christian Andersen's warmth and magic to it, and this warmth and magic is not lost in free-verse translation.

Enjoy!
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/20/2018

Kneeling before you,
I bow my head low,
confessing the truths
due to the Motherland:

it's you who taught me
to see beauty with a word,
and when I entrusted
my soul to you,
you made the bed
with mirror thought
- looking-glass' reflection -
dressed in pensive ponderings.

I love you, Poland,
when you are blooming in spring.
Your fertile fields
of gold wheat and barley.

I love,
when in summer,
in the aroma of linden trees,
adorned with flowers,
you lure with cool shade.

I love in autumn:
saddened,
rainy.

I love with pure and
unchanging love,
full of joy
of sins remission:
of Christmas Eve
examination of conscience.

I love, from south to north,
in February cold
and in hot July.

Your steel statues
of the Carpathian peaks.
Your streams, when rumbling
they carry the March ice floes.
Your beautiful sparkling willow greens
of Masurian waters,
when the sun is chasing
dancing rays
-with emerald's spark
of silver-plated steel,
before they'll disappear
with colors of the rainbow
in the hazy distance.

Your ancient castles,
standing proudly since the times of Piasts.

Your dunes, tamed with dwarf pine,
your country homesteads on the Bug and Prosna.

Polish wolves', eager for blood,
fearful thundering voices.
The heroic fate of the brave Polish armies.
Golden wheat ears of liberation
in the coat of arms of the Nation.

At the sources of the Vistula
I love you with reverie:
And over transparent waters
further reaches
I sob.

You'll hug me,
Mother!
Your son,
when you'll tuck me in
as my only Ma
-buried,
with eternal... loving.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards

The Carpathian Mountains or Carpathians are a mountain range system forming an arc roughly 1,500 km (932 mi) long across Central and Eastern Europe, making them the second-longest mountain range in Europe (after the Scandinavian Mountains) .

Masuria - is a region in northern Poland famous for its 2,000 lakes. Before the end of World War II, it was mostly inhabited by Polish-speaking Lutheran Masurians and constituted a part of East Prussia. Masuria occupies much of the Masurian Lake District. Its biggest city is Ełk, often regarded as its capital.

The Piast dynasty was the first historical ruling dynasty of Poland. The first documented Polish monarch was Prince Mieszko I (c.930-992)

The Bug River (Polish: Bug) is a major river mostly located in Eastern Europe, which flows through three countries with a total length of 774 kilometres.

The Prosna is a river in central Poland, a tributary of the Warta river (near Pyzdry) , with a length of 227 kilometres.

The Vistula (Polish: Wisła) is the longest and largest river in Poland and the 9th longest river in Europe, at 1,047 kilometres (651 miles) in length.
Yuki Jun 2019
To all the people who
leave their homeland
to escape from their lives
unaware that they
won’t make it alive
on the other side,
oblivious to the horrific
idea that they will
scream and cry
while watching their
babies drown and die:
may the waves carry you
in a better world
than the one in which
we are living now.
Angeline Dec 2018
I've inherited my mother's fear
And my father's bitterness
And he inherited his father's recklessness
And his mother's pain
And she inherited
And he inherited
And we've inherited hatred of our own kind
Passed down from the terrorists who have colonized the lands and minds and bodies of my ancestors
And I can feel the anguish & the effects of this hereditary agony from here;

I am ready to heal.
Thoughts from the diaspora.
Erik Whalen Oct 2018
Through a torn visage, I see the flame
One torch, by day, reflects ages hence
That spark, they say, can't be to blame
But many, still, keeps shoulders tense.

Man, sincerely, calls for homeland
But flame to mirror rends reflection bent
When man, in jest, sets sparks to woodland
The forest, torn, its visage now rent.
Tuffy Mutombo Aug 2017
Roots of kings and queens
Subjected to slavey
Diamond filled graves
Digging deeper ending up ******
Government fornicating with corruption
Birthing an evil nation
War Everywhere for a nation going nowhere
Faith filled churches praying for peace
While the people are sleepless
Anger and pain is all they can release
Sadia May 2017
War
I don’t know where I’m going. Whatever path i take, It seems like I’m going back and forth. There is no place to run, no place to seek shelter. My homeland is being bombarded. I'm stuck in the middle of a battlefield. The smoke fills the skies. I can hear the screams of the mothers loosing their children. Bomb after bomb blast echo across the landscape. They are so loud my ears are rending me deaf. My heart trembles. Bodies lay on the ground, some dead, some injured. Those injured are in need of help. Hatred has stained the hearts of many. I lay here, along with the rest of the civilians on the path way.
There's so many questions on my mind. Why is this happening to us? Why are innocent civilians being killed? Do I have to be rich and famous for my voice to be heard?
As the sun goes down, night falls. You can hear whispers of words from those who have been lost. Bodies lay on the ground and a stream of blood flows. Those injured become weaker and weaker, calling in need of help...
Life fades away.
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