by Alicja Kuberska

I no longer have a nest here

But I come back, like a swallow,

To places of my childhood.

I wander the sandy hedgerows,

To participate in the mystery of lark song.

I arrange bouquets

Of wild poppies and cornflowers –

And raise up to the clouds.

Old trees, to which I confided my secrets,

Still grow,

Tart, wild cherries

And sweet-scented linden

As once –

I divine the world in the mirror of the lake.

I listen to the waves and the wind.

Apparently nothing has changed.

Only the cemetery hill,

Like a diary of life,

Is ever more clear

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Poland

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Alicja Kuberska


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