Friday, October 29, 2010

A Poem by Fr. Jan Twardowski


Kneels at night and tries to find God
with eyes of fear, wear and tear-
the distant someone, from whom he'd been parted,
errant and crying, somewhere.

The smell throngs like blooming jasmine
in the golden wheat field of a dream-
who woke who you are, where you swim
through the nights and days unending.

No one says if you are right or wrong,
no one says you are not gorgeous,
only the land of the ancient tombs
hears and knows about your silence.

Translated from the Polish