Grzegorz Turnau - Pamięć

Under bridges our words
and in desires of dark gates,
on the backyards of tender moments,
between sleep and deja vu;
where fate joke and a sudden drama,
"shakes on every threshold
penitentiary of memory "-
here where I am not there the world dies
and for pity begs every tree stone book rhyme
here where I am not there is a gloomy windy evening
the streets are drizzling with poisonous smoke
here where I am not there is no hope
for the smallest positive turn of my affairs
here where I am not there is nothing at all
besides the memory of my meager paper reefs
For the silence of the cold bottom,
in a sweet cyanide cigarette,
on the sea surface, nonsense
and under the water, unpleasant dreams;
where the child laughs and the death of the scythe,
"He will tread again at each threshold
penitentiary of memory "-
here where I am not ...
Under the bridges of our words
and in the desires of dark gates ...