V. Cemetery.

A graveyard.

In my memory, I retained the image of young, energetic boys

who, in the waning days of the party, spontaneously created underground structures.

After years of farewells, I searched for familiar faces among the burnt-out wreckage.

Some swollen men, I'd say few differed in appearance from those before,

although there was no cemetery. Graves appeared before my eyes under the cathedral.

They had arrived in droves to pay their last respects to a household name.

The heads of historic Solidarity were absent, there were less distinguished figures.

I monitored this on the TV screen so as not to participate in this spectacle.

I saw everyone discreetly searching for a familiar face.

Those lesser-known, like children, exposed themselves to the camera to be remembered,

on celluloid for eternity. And what group he was in – they will publicly reveal.

Miners with a brass band were there. In short, a ballistic party was organized, and

statements were made for the cameras; Staś was a quiet and non-confrontational individual.

One could say that such traits suit a priest. We like to be flatterers.

I didn't see Staś on the parliamentary podium. He's poor material for a member of parliament.

You can be intelligent with such traits, and a government position doesn't lure you in.

The cameraman was looking for a journalistic sensation in this event.

I saw that there was no end to the hugs, bows, and gestures at this congress.

Most did everything to pass for someone, seemingly without any revelations.

The legendary body was carried out of the cathedral and placed on a vehicle.

Behind the coffin walked a friend whom I had grabbed in an attempt to horn me.

A trusted underground cashier walked, who had appropriated the Union's green money.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Solidarity is us, the Solidarity people, and here such misunderstandings occur.

That's why Solidarity is dying by itself, because in reality it wasn't Solidarity at all.

The funeral brought together many, as if he had searched for and found a crystal ball in the crowd.

Staś in a wooden box. Has anyone managed to think where this soul went?

At the very end of the funeral procession, a tired Rysio walked in contemplation.

He knows well about eternity, when the stay in the body is just a minor stage of torment.