Krvavy - Wołanie Popiołu

It's the hardest to make the first step
On incandescent coals of words walking into the unknown

In an old campfire someone puts flame up in a bun
Adding throw to a stone circle of memories

And I- lighting a fire with a fox's tail
His speech crackles, lighting up the dark

I won't make count of the days, I won't jump over a month
When the year is a belfry of collapsing suns

Watercolours spilled themselves over beech mountains
To feel the delight of strolls in muddy boots

In a soaked hearth, somewhere on the world's edge
I find ash damp with tears

I would like to know if I can rummage through it so that
By reversing the course of events, moments and years

Resurrect the tree, and if it'll suffice for a ladder of speech
So I can climb it over the heads of giants of silence

---

It's drizzling, drizzling like someone was crying in the mist
Scattered seed of bitterness and chilly dew of grief

Like someone was wronged, that they had to rise slowly
And leave it buried in the sand

Early-evening crackle of hair
Murmur of chatty leaves
Thallus of space, that tourists
tearing to shreds
Abominable sadists

The sky spread out over our heads
To sow a hundred acre wood in our heart and soul

So we move our for eternal hunt for sensations
Where the ash is still smouldering, the one in the title

Having wind in the hand, one last bosom fraternised with a knife
And between fingers, a rudder of rotted wood and a sea of stars

Holding on their lap northern lights of worries
Walking somewhere barefoot through a cornflower field of conjectures

O, forest! [1]
Deciduous.
Conifer.

[1] "O borze!" means "o, forest!", while "o Boże!" means "o, God!". "Borze" and "boże" have the same pronunciation.