Christmas in Literature and Art
date:27 December 2020 Editor: Editorial
"God is born, power is dead" - let the message of this carol be a origin of hope and inspiration for a careful reflection of the world. The following poem and many another literary and musical materials are recommended with the creative portal POLSKA-CANADA: https://www.polskacanada.com/
As all year the Savior comes to us, born in a stable, among loving parents and defenseless animals. We want our sympathizers, authors and casual wanderers who can come to the Christmas table, so that love, flowing from the brilliance of the newborn Christ, will accompany us all throughout the fresh Year and always make good, conquering evil. Hallelujah!
Piotr Wojciechowski
In the angels the crowd
The wind from the wilderness of Judah carried angel feathers
Night like night. And a bite of Podhale frost.
Shepherds have already called, before them paths, paths,
Under the sandals gravel, and in the hearts angelic singing.
Before they come, Bethlehem is full of ghosts.
Because the planet has renewed today. They know that for sure,
They know the Powers, the Reserves. They know the reign.
And I've never enjoyed singing as much as a common litany.
The Psalm of Thrones, of Choirs, of Power—are all angels.
The Cherubs are as tight as a spruce youth,
And seraphim like Polish Husaria.
Everyone sings the most beautiful, loudest try.
In front of the unchangeable a unusual light like the sighs of God
Joseph kneels and listens supported on top,
Mother carried the kid out with a country tucked in
And he hears a acquainted voice. She looked this way,
Where the voice above the choir rose like a bright falcon.
And with her fist she smeared the teardrop in her amazed eye.
Gabriel! – she called – like a good meeting!
Hail, Hail Mary. And I see the Lord with you.
That's what Angel calls. With wings,
He's already in the front line. It's raining before you.
They were barely happy – the peasants came in
Jesus breathed a small – Angels like a feather
The clouds were rising—the shepherds said,
That the wind from the desert carried angel feathers
And that was the night. And he bit the Podhale frost.
Piotr Wojciechowski
Photo:
https://www.polskacanada.com/
