Jacek Kaczmarski - Ostatnia mapa Polski

An errant bullet hit the headquarters' tent in the morning
And fallen on the table covered with tablecloth of maps.
Parchment ash spattered with someone's blood
Instead of the only map of the country it saw the headquarters.

The Headman runs amid the cheering hats,
The capital is miles away, and the enemy- almost here;
The country has been flooded with Moskals, now the map is shot to hell!
Maybe God really forgot about us already!?

He runs into the castle, to the racing corridors.
Someone packs trunks, someone burns the papers,
Dignitaries write obsequious letters
Begging Her Czar Majesty in repentance for mercy.

-Your Highness has the last map of the country!
Shouts the headman and boom- kneels before the king!
-The enemy advances, and they wait for it in the headquarters!
Without it- massacre and mutual grave for everyone!

-I will not let to poke the last map with little flags,
What is the meaning of the army that I do not have anymore!-
Said the king and rolled Poland into a roll and the parchment
Like a seashell hid in itself sound of Her both seas.

So the headman ran outside with nothing, calling for God's wrath
And the king listeing to the fading stamping,
Put the map between private things
Into the valise, for his last trip.