—for perfidious protectorsI was playing in the street no one paid attention to me as I made forms out of sand mumbling Rimbaud under my breath once an elderly gentleman overheard it —little boy you are a poet just now we are organizing a grass-roots literary movement he stroked my dirty head gave me a large lollypop and even bought clothes in the protective coloring of youth I didn’t have such a splendid suit since first communion short trousers and a wide sailor’s collar black patent leather shoes with a buckle white knee-high socks the elderly gentleman took me by the hand and led the way to the ball other boys were there also in short trousers carefully shaven shuffling their feet —well boys now it’s time to play why are you standing in the corners asked the elderly gentleman —make a circle holding hands but we didn’t want tag or blindman’s buff we had enough of the elderly gentleman we were very hungry so we were seated promptly around a large table given lemonade and pieces of cake now disguised as adults with deep voices the boys got up they praised us or slapped us on our hands we didn’t hear anything didn’t feel anything staring with great eyes at the piece of cake that kept melting in our hot hands and this sweet taste the first in our lives disappeared inside our dark sleeves
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Zbigniew Herbert
Zbigniew Herbert (29 October 1924 – 28 July 1998) was a Polish poet, essayist, drama writer and moralist. He is one of the best known and the mo…
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