Maybe, it's our destiny to be on opposite sides.

You, being much older, has always fought. You fought for yourselves and for me, fought with those, who were dear to you and me. Sometimes we fought with each other, and then I thought, that my heart would burst with pain.

You always laughed from me. You said, that I must be a boy. The girl who climbs with a pick in the mines at night, and sits on lectures at the Institute in the daytime - it's probably a strange show. Especially for you, who hides the weapon under the shepherd's cloak to be always ready for brawl.

We have always tried to become one country. But in those rare moments that we were together, you were scaring me. In your grin, in a feverish brilliance of your eyes, facial expressions, gestures there was something vaguely Polish, and sometimes I couldn't even understand, what you said. You wrinkled nose of my speech, sometimes even pretending, that you didn't hear me. You said, that I didn't fight, that I didn't do anything to our Independent. We quarreled over trifles. You went away to shed blood again, not being afraid to shed yours. For yourselves. For me. For us.

It was over. We are together. And, I believe, that we will be together and independent forever this time.

And let the others say that we are different. Let them think that we can not be together. Well, let, sometimes we can't understand the words of each other, let our culture only similar, not identical.

I love you, brother. Is not this a reason to hold our hands?