A.Oppman - Ulica.docx

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Ulica                                                                                                                             Wyschłe kobiety o tragicznych licach,                                                                                                                                                                             Pożółkłe dzieci ze śmiercią w źrenicach,                                                                                                                                                               Zgłodniali chłopcy w łachmanach i boso,                                                                                                                        Z świstkiem i żartem, które sytym niosą.                                                                                                                          Ociężałymi w dal sunący kroki                                                                                                                           Tłum robotniczy z fabrycznej pomroki,                                                                                                                                Nocne dziewczęta z tępymi oczyma,                                                                                                                              Wszystko, ci życie mrozi, jak kwiat zima,                                                                                                                                                                                    Idzie z pieczęcią pogardy: „Ulica”.                                                                                                                                                                       Ludzkie się bydło wiek przewala cały!                                                                                                                                                                                                               Choćbyś mu kazał rwać pazurem skały,                                                                                                                        Choćbyś je wysłał pod armat paszczęki                                                                                                                                                     Wał z trupów własnych krwawy słać i miękki,                                                                                                                                                                     Choćbyś kochanki wydarł i żony,                                                                                                                                                                              Jak psu chleb ciskał w błoci umoczony -                                                                                                                                    Milczy – spode łba niepewnie spogląda,                                                                                                                                                                     Nie wie, co myśli i czego pożąda,                                                                                                                    I jest jak wielka ciemna tajemnica                                                                                                                                                                                 Cuchnąca, nędzna, mrukliwa ulica!                                                                                                                                                                Ale niekiedy, raz na długie lata,                                                                                                                             Szalony płomień ulicę przelata,                                                                                                                                          Zmętniałe oczy błyskawicą płoną,                                                                                                                                                                               Serce się żagwią zapala czerwoną,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Dławiony pomruk w ryk się lwi zamienia                                                                                                                                                                             Dłoń wyprężona noża chce! kamienia!                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Jad nienawiści,  skrywany tak długo,                                                                                                                                                                                                 Wybucha żrącą, jak wytryol, strugą                                                                                                                                                                  I piorunami grzmi, jak nawałnica,                                                                                                                               Dysząca, wściekła, rozżarta ulica!                                                                                                                                                                          A nad ulicą, jak wichru muzyka,                                                                                                                                      Zrywa się nagle pieśń ogromna, dzika!                                                                                                                                                                   Pieśń, która wali gniewem i rozpaczą                                                                                                                                                            I niewiadomo: nucą ją czy płaczą?                                                                                                                                          I nie potrzeba pieśni tej wyrazów:                                                                                                                                                  Ona przemawia do ludzi i głazów!                                                                                                                                                I krzyczy w strasznym, bezpamiętnym śpiewie,                                                                                                                                                      Jako od głodu kurczące się trzewie!                                                                988                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         I jak gwałcona wyje niewolnica! -                                                                                                                                 To sztandar buntu podniosła ulica!                                                                                                                                                     Wprzód korze, ciche, posępne gromady,                                                                                                                               Patrz! one teraz rządzą z barykady!                                                                                                                                                         Zaklęta w mięśnie dusza robotnicza,                                                                                                                                                                     Wyswobodzona, dumą  lśni z oblicza,                                                                                                                                                                                           Wyschłe kobiety, dzieci z śmiercią w oku,                                                                                                                                        Grzmiącym szaspotom nie ustąpią kroku!                                                                                                                                                                                  Uliczna dziewka, z górną zgonu wzgardą,                                                                                                                                                                       Kartaczownicom pierś nastawia hardą!                                                                                                                                                                                 I jak czerwona, okropna źrenica,                                                                                                                                                                                        Szmatą chorągwi jarzy się ulica!                                                                                                                                                        Prąc żywiołowo ku jutrzejszej dobie,                                                                                                                                     Moc nieprzyjacielską i twórczą ma w sobie!                                                                                                                                                             I chociaż sama w letarg znów zastyga,                                                                                                                                                     Konwulsją walki świat ku górze dźwiga!                                                                                                                                                 Do tego słońca, które z krwi powodzi                                                                                                                                                                                        Na horyzoncie gdzieś dalekim wschodzi                                                                                                                                                                         I zawieszone nad ziemską dziedziną,                                                                                                                                                          Od ran czerwoną i od trupów siną,                                                                                                                                                              Nim buchnie światłem, tli się, jak gromnica…                                                                                                                                               A dołem wlecze kondukt swój „Ulica!”…                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       ...