You would not take my hand. The dawn glow
Made the world alter.
At that moment your brother called to you.
For a second you faltered.

You ran to him and came back. He was dead.
Fate, for the clouds, shone golden.
"Now I belong only to you," you said.
Your voice broke and rolled on.

Without a glance at you, I asked: "Did he know?"
"Yes," you replied.
Outside, giving thoughts distance, aslant, aflow,
The bird, as always, glided.

Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer
(Contributed by daniel on Friday, April 8th, 2011)
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Polish Literature

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