Dlaczego?

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People always ask:
Why do you come here?
Why do you return to
this place with the
river that flows through
years of blood and the
soil that would but
scream with the sounds
of history, if it only
could?
Why do you choose to
walk amongst buildings
– facades really- that
stand in place of what
used to be when there
are grander majesties
to behold in this world?

I always reply:
I come back here,
I return to this place
with the river and the
soil that team in a stew
of dark memories, with
the buildings that look
like toys, so new are
they for their parents
were destroyed; I return
here instead of seeking
out greater majesties
because of the sober
people who, despite
themselves, are a determined
lot- like the green that
peaks from beneath the ice,
evergreen flora that refuse
to give in to winter.

And maybe majesty is overrated?
And maybe I, too, am steeped in bitter memories?

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