extracts
New Horizons
STANISLAW SWIERCZ
Osada Puzieniewicze, District Stolpce

11 June 1995. 55 years 4 months and one day have been and gone when the forced journey comes full circle. My brother Witold and I in our bare feet tread the land of our father Antoni Swiercz, prisoner of Ostashkov, whose life was stolen by a shot in the back of his head in a dank, fetid cellar and whose body was buried in a communal ditch in Mednoye in 1940. We sprinkle soil that we have brought with us and gather some that will go with us on our very last journey. Even now there is still rye growing on our land and the rustling ears of corn bow 'Welcome' to us. Probably we are imagining all this for it's more then likely just the light wind making it happen. But here are our roots and this is our soil. My dearest - says the soil â how many such roots are embedded in me, roots which I fed and raised from time immemorial. for me there is no division into different races, tribes and nations. By the command of Everlasting God I have a duty until the end of the world to preserve the human race and all that derives life from me. Dear ones! Even as I welcome you I also say farewell. Hasten back to your other roots but know I shall always be waiting. Our land is different or maybe it's we who have changed ...