A girl brushes away a wisp of hair from her face. There are 100 students in the assembly hall. The sheet of paper in front of her is still blank. The clock is ticking. The topic written on the board:
Which contemporary Polish poet is the closest to your heart and why
I always knew it was Krzysztof. I am 18 and I know that every year he is getting closer and closer to me. But how to write about death which is so different? No appropriate words. Just emotions. I cannot write. I think I will fail.
These loves which flow with us in white streams…
Lame letters. Time is running out. My future hangs on a thin thread. If I write well, I will be able to study wherever I want. If I write anything at all. In my mind I repeat the poem written by Krzysztof on 27th January 1944:
Inside us, akin to monument boulders,
from these loves grows vigorously
through these times, above these times,
above us – a time to love.
I will not leave you until I die!
I close my eyes. Krzysztof is alive. Young. Although the pages are yellow, his words are so powerful. Time has passed away, but I feel the same emotion I felt when I was 18. The girl didn’t write this essay well and she was enrolled in a science class. She knew that she had preferred Krzysztof to Pythagoras, and she managed to turn the tables. How? Thanks to her love for poetry.
1st August, 2015. The Warsaw Uprising begins. Krzysztof runs out of the house. Nobody would stop him. Neither love nor death.
I am not 18 anymore, but he is still the same – alive forever. He knows best what happened there. Let’s not use modus irrealis to comment the Warsaw Uprising time. Let’s not judge. Let’s focus on our life exam which we fail or pass daily. Today, let`s read poems by Krzysztof regardless of what we think about that upraising. All we need today is silence.
Profreader: Monika Bajer.death, life, love