by Jan Twardowski
Let us hurry to love people they depart so quickly
Leaving only their shoes and silence on the phone
Only what is unimportant tends to drag like a cow
The most important is so fast it happens in split-second
Silence that follows – normal and unbearable
Is like clarity born straight from despair
When we think about someone who is no longer with us
Please do not be so certain that there is still time left
For certainty happens to be most uncertain
It takes away our sensitivity along with happiness
And comes concurrently with pathos and humour
Just like two different passions yet not as strong as one
Tend to die down so quickly, like thrush song in July
Like a sound somewhat clumsy or a vacuous bow
They have to close their eyes in order to truly see
And even though to be born is a greater risk than to die
We love still too little and always too late
Do not write about it too often but write once and for all
And you will be like a dolphin both gentle and strong
Let us hurry to love people, they depart so quickly
And those who do not, will not always return
And you never know while speaking of love
Is the first one last, or the last one first.
Translated from the Polish by Pawel Maciejewski
good marriage central* 
Silence on the phone is so true. It was ages before I stopped expecting the phone to ring and hear my mother’s voice.
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It hurts. Those wounds do not ever heal, in my experience. We just pretend they are not there, because we must sometimes. Often, really. Almost all the time, in fact.
But they are there, those forever empty spaces oozing painful absence.
That’s why we must hurry when we still can.
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Oh, how so true. And eloquently put.
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Thanks. It is a lovely poem.
Twardowski was a Catholic priest, BTW.
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