Frontline Zone

Poem by Alek Rybczynski translated from Polish

We live in the frontline zone, we live on the border of heaven and hell;

Torn by the ravenous fangs of war's prophets;

We refuse the march with a rifle on our backs;

And let the whispers of evil slip past our ears;

We try to save dignity and remember the places and people;

Who paused in our life with a tiny flame of beauty.

We cry out for reinforcements;

Through decimated, bleeding ranks;

Calling to halt weapon transports;

Our voices lost in silence;

Patrols cutting through darkness;

Piercing the fog of endless hunt.

We hurriedly write the music of hearts;

And follow the trace of life;

Lifting our feet slightly above the ground;

This is all that remains to us – saving memory;

That will never surrender to reset.

Above our heads, we hear rockets flying;

But most wounding are the shameless messages;

Of radio music boxes and television terminators;

We endure in a world of barbed wire;

Ghosts of bombs, the singing of fools;

Madmen and usurpers.

We cry out for reinforcements;

Through decimated, bleeding ranks;

Calling to halt weapon transports;

Our voices lost in silence;

Patrols cutting through darkness;

Piercing the fog of endless hunt.