Faithful mother tongue, <br />I have been serving you. <br />Every night, I used to set before you little bowls of colors <br />so you could have your birch, your cricket, your finch <br />as preserved in my memory. <br /> <br />This lasted many years. <br />You were my native land; I lacked any other. <br />I believed that you would also be a messenger <br />between me and some good people <br />even if they were few, twenty, ten <br />or not born, as yet. <br /> <br />Now, I confess my doubt. <br />There are moments when it seems to me I have squandered my life. <br />For you are a tongue of the debased, <br />of the unreasonable, hating themselves <br />even more than they hate other nations, <br />a tongue of informers, <br />a tongue of the confused, <br />ill with their own innocence. <br /> <br />But without you, who am I? <br />Only a scholar in a distant country, <br />a success, without fears and humiliations. <br />Yes, who am I without you? <br />Just a philosopher, like everyone else. <br /> <br />I understand, this is meant as my education: <br />the glory of individuality is taken away, <br />Fortune spreads a red carpet <br />before the sinner in a morality play <br />while on the linen backdropp a magic lantern throws <br />images of human and divine torture. <br /> <br />Faithful mother tongue, <br />perhaps after all it's I who must try to save you. <br />So I will continue to set before you little bowls of colors <br />bright and pure if possible, <br />for what is needed in misfortune is a little order and beauty.<br /><br />Czeslaw Milosz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-faithful-mother-tongue/
