W.Broniewski - Zagłębie Dąbrowskie.docx

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    agłębie Dąbrowskie                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Szybie milczący i ciemny,                                                                                                     ożyjesz i będziesz gadał .                                                                                                           Po gniew – jak węgiel – kamienny,                                                                                                               windo złej pieśni – na dół!                                                                                                                    Po gniew ,moja pieśni ,najgłębiej                                                                                                                            w serce ziemi się wwierć!                                                                                                      Węgiel dobywa Zagłębie,                                                                                                   Zagłębie dobywa śmierć.                                                                                          W dół i w górę otchłanie mroku,                                                                                   czarna troska, czarna robota,,                                                                                       a na ziemi – szeroko, szeroko -                                                                                              widma domostw i gruda błota.                                                                                                  Zagłębie dobywa węgiel,                                                                                                          tu nie ma innego prawa.                                                                                                     Nocą nad widnokręgiem                                                                                                         łuna błotnisto –krwawa.                                                                                                                                     W tej łunie – skrzypią wyciągi,                                                                                                                                             kraczą krany żelazne,                                                                                                                                       wywożą, wywożą wyciągi                                                                                                                                                                   głaz rozbity na miazgę.                                                                                                                           Trze wapnem skropić wagony.                                                                                                  Wapnem – czy ludzką krwią?                                                                                               Parowozów dech przyśpieszony,                                                                                                     z remiz tabunem rwa.                                                                                                                                               Zagłębie goni za zyskiem,                                                                                                       Zagłębie goni za chlebem,                                                                                                 smugi czerwonych iskier                                                                                                        wieją pod czarnym niebem,                                                                                                                    Zagłębie dobywa węgiel,                                                                                                                śle go na zachód i wschód                                                                                                     i zamienia czarną potęgę,                                                                                                                        na mur, na nędzę, na głód.                                                                                                                                 Powiedz, ziemio surowa,                                                                                                         komu ty jesteś ojczyzną?                                                                                                           Groźnie milczy Dąbrowa,                                                                                                               w noc głodu ,kryzysu, faszyzmu.                                                                                                                            Milczy błotnista ulica,                                                                                                                                      wiedzą górnicy, kto wróg.                                                                                                                                   Na rogu stoi policjant,                                                                                                       nad policjantem – bóg                                                                                                     Kryzys w ciężkim przemyśle,                                                                                                                                  płace górników głodowe,                                           435                                                                                                                                  ich twarze – nieprawomyślne,                                                                                                    ich domy – antypaństwowe!                                                                                                                                             Węgiel dobywa Zagłębie,                                                                                                       Zagłębie dobywa śmierć.                                                                                                                             Po gniew, moja pieśni, najgłębiej                                                                                                                                   w serce ziemi się wwierć,                                                                                                       by te słowa zabrał niejeden,                                                                                               jak lonty dynamitowe,                                                                                                      Na Hutę Bankową, na Reden…                                                                                            - Zapalać! Gotowe?  - Gotowe!...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          436

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