the first polish death in Arnhem

i stand on my trembling legs
a parachute weighs on my shoulders
the peal of the engine breaks into me
unceremoniously piercing my heart
i thought — “it’s good to be here”
but when the scarlet of the lamp touches my eyes,
i feel nothing anymore

the ramp has been left — i’m falling
i’m falling differently
i’m falling entirely
the air beats not in my face
but in every part of my soul

the omnipresence of fear in the fog all around
slowly tears great ideas away from me
i was supposed to fight for freedom
but i can’t see myself anymore

am i scared?
do i know what will happen?
i can only hear the swish of a bullet flying into me

Author: Mikołaj Witoński
VI LO from Gdynia