His name is Karol Jozef.
He is more than eighty years old.
Polska is his native land.
The Vatican Hill is where he resides.
'Servus servorum' is his office.
He writes verses of honor.

Yesterday afternoon, I saw him,
on the screen without advertisement.
Yesterday, he broke the thin bread
and poured the wine of the Lamb of God.
A million men are longing for his voice.
Many turn up their noses at him.
May hatred turn into love.

His voice can be as soft as silk,
but can also be as hard as steel.
He has trod many continents.
His lips say in many tongues.
The see of the apostles he keeps,
The cross of Christ he carries.

The poet of Wadowice
is a torch of heart from the eternal city,
captain of the hill of holy sepulcher,
visible vicar of the Great Master.
The Holy Spirit is upon him;
my prayers are always with him.

Jakarta - Easter, 2003

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* Translation of my Indonesian poem "Pujangga Wadowice"

For more poems, visit: http://poems-in-memory-of-pope-jp-ii.cjb.net