A poem entitled “Whose Are You?”

For me, Poland means the language
in which I could speak from childhood
the moon above Kraków’s Main Square
Gałczyński, Tuwim, Osiecka

For me, Poland means people close to me
the green of the forest and a field of rye
the view from the window when I wake up
my wife’s touch when I fall asleep

So don’t teach me about Poland, skinhead
with your head shaved close to the skin
your muse is disco polo
your heart beats for the nation

Get “No Arab is needed here”
tattooed across your chest
and say your prayers every day
rise up to heaven with the white eagle

For me, Poland means the smell of hay
beneath the tablecloth when the holidays come
not a beautifully lost battle
the duty to remember

Because the homeland is a modest word
which I rarely utter in a whisper
no monument is needed
no decree will approve it

So don’t teach me...

I won’t board your boat
nor will I hum your song
because we care about a different Poland
my fellow countryman, seven sorrows to you