All red-armists around...
Dirty, always, drunk,
From everywhere you hear their loud screams,
They cut the cloudy sky with their guns arrows...
All the curses,
The common loud shouting,
The primitive russian wild,
Disgusting of God's laws and human rights...
Shorty hand clamped around the neck,
A ruthless bully, a chaotic sight,
The horrors of their laughter,
In the Russian language of the chamese docinki,
Abdomen on the knee,
All the trials of vain,
The angry insults,
Moving over the body their dirty hands,
An unbearable stench of samo-gon,
The odor of Russian cigarettes,
Of cracked and drooled lips,
He woke up a suppressed vomit reflex,
In the face of the cheek,
A young girl's wailing,
The gold chain torn off the neck,
There's buttons all over the ground...
And of the thousands of defenseless Polish eyes tears,
Suffocated sobbing in a prison throat,
With a palm on the mouth, a muffled cry,
In the midst of immeasurable cruelty crying silently...
Help from nowhere!
And all around the russian whirring,
To the temple a cold weapon placed,
With a fist, a painful blow...
And only a silent panic prayer,
In my heart, with a free, dying hope,
When all uncertainty of a second,
It seemed to last forever...
And only fear of panic,
Inhuman, sensory,
By sticking his claws in,
In the minds of the frightened girls,
He pierced the heart of each of them,
To shortly in painful memories,
For the remainder of your life,
Remaining hidden in the subconscious...
The immensity of inhuman cruelty,
In Soviet-occupied areas,
There have been any young Polish people who have experienced
Drowning his despair in countless tears...
So-called deliverers,
A truly vengeful executioner,
They sow their cruel deeds,
The fear that cannot be described in words,
People who are primitive and savage,
On Polish dirt feeling unpunished,
Unspent atrocities have committed,
Threatening and threatening to cover their tracks...
But we must not forget,
The pain of thousands of young Poles,
Which in the years of the Inhuman War,
Soviet soldiers fell prey.
Of their inexpressible suffering,
We should tell the full planet today,
Recalling their unsettled pain,
Allied treason.
To awe of the modern world,
Though he wondered for a moment,
About what russian Russia,
Hell to thousands of Poles cooked.
To make their countless tragedies,
They were never erased from history,
And the cross they carried all their lives,
To the civilized world, he was a remorse...
- A poem devoted to the memory of respective tens of thousands of Poles who fell victim to russian rapes during and after planet War II.
