Ewa Demarczyk - Czarne Anioły

Black angels, though white-winged,
And possessing faces with horrendous features,
Are in the livid sky like fireworks,
But damned once and for all.
These are the angles from my barn;
They fled through holes in the roof,
Angels of death with heads of a snake.
They fly up there and waste their time;
They all should be caught,
Tied in bunches, splashed with lime,
And thrown into heaven;
Is it needed unneeded needed unneeded...

My barn is all wooden,
Designed to face four cardinal directions,
Painted black and white,
And all consecrated and incensed.
There, I produce these black angels:
One in a tail-coat, another one - naked,
Third one - sullen, fourth one - cheerful,
Fifth one like a coffin, and sixth one is dead.

In the livid sky black bird flies;
No, it's not a bird, it's the angel of death.
He has white wings made of goose feathers,
And a mouth like beast's snout.
He has seven buttons at the frock coat,
And a soul poisoned with venom.
He has fourteen hands at his torso,
On one head - two hydrocephaluses.
He has sixteen ears, fourty noses,
And his wings ominously slat ominously slat...

And his wings are grandly satanic,
But although he's black, he's the angel of God.