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Since I have been so beautifully dismantled into its first parts regarding the guilt/innocence of General Kiszczak - and fortunately, we can still agree on a few things - I propose a lighter (but is it?) topic for the weekend for processing and multilateral analysis with possible synthesis. The case is from April, but it gained a new freshness after the presidential election. Here is a poem that may soon be included in school lists as an example of modern patriotism expressed through immortal romantic ideas with echoes of antiquity in the background. he does not deny it, because he himself does not doubt it. The work was created when the poet decided to reject this year's Literary Award of the Capital City of Warsaw. of Warsaw in the Warsaw Creator category. On TV Republika, he explained his gesture as follows: This award is granted by the city ruled by Hanna Gronkiewicz-Waltz. That's why I couldn't accept it. I am resigning from this country, it is not my country, I want nothing to do with it. There are still two Polands, I would very much like to live to see the Poland we dream of. Is Jarosław Marek Rymkiewicz - because we are talking about him - as part of signing out of "this country", also stopped using public roads, health care, electricity and gas, or spits at the sight of a policeman, a fireman or a soldier serving this state - of course I don't know and I dare not guess. But the case is undoubtedly clinically interesting. The positive side of the generous decision to resign from the financial part of the prize (PLN 100,000) is that the money was allocated to scholarships for young writers. immaculate…

A poem about the rewards of rejection

The prize is poisoned. I proudly reject it. Let the traitors of the Homeland accept Judas' silver coins. I'd rather be locked in a coffin Than take gold from a woman who desecrated Smolensk monuments. Or it's better to sing a song to battle, encourage Poles to bravery.

I sing for freedom for my homeland, tired of plundered by invaders, insulted by scoundrels. Like former martyrs, exiles, prophets I will take the heaviest blows - they give me strength!

I strike the lute, and the nation is drawn to the Prophet. I'm fed in Milanówek, I rule on Parnassus. The reward: eternal fame, the sky in all its glory And the traitors are waiting for Warsaw lanterns...

Who fought the insidious commune already in his youth, casts a curse on the tsarina of the capital city. It wasn't for nothing that I was called the "Liberty Prince" - So I spit on Hanna Waltz-Gronkiewicz's decorations!