“Try to praise the mutilated world.Remember June’s long days,and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.The nettles that methodically overgrowthe abandoned homesteads of exiles.You must praise the mutilated world.You watched the stylish yachts and ships;one of them had a long trip ahead of it,while salty oblivion awaited others.You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,You’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.You should praise the mutilated world.Remember the moments when we were togetherin a white room and the curtain fluttered.Return in thought to the concert where music flared.You gathered acorns in the park in autumnand leaves eddied over the earth's scars.Praise the mutilated worldand the gray feathers a thrush lost,and the gentle light that strays and vanishesand returns.”
Adam Zagajewski
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