I see a normal land -
birches, a church1, river;
by river an alder grove,
from God to man gifted.
In the wind bell chime
born of this clay’s bulk
and from all sides
come the normal folk.
They say what they said-
nobody has a problem.
they think what they thought-
nobody thinks for them.
And I see one of the cities
in its ant-like structure:
in open windows glints
and doors open in a wall.
Past doors - a room, table,
on the walls old masters’ art,
at the table - as if I was able
to tell it’s a normal man.
He says, what he said,
he’s not afraid at all.
He thinks, what he thought
and there’s nothing wrong.
And I see way beyond
past the circle of horizon,
without any wonder it is so,
as it should be at inception.
So one of them grabs me hard
and looks in the eyes mocking:
‘Wake up already, tard!’
And he gives me a shot.
Then, the normal thing,
he’ll tie me to the bed.
I’d like to fall asleep,
but to the dream I can’t catch up
1. in original Kaczmarski used the word for Orthodox Christian temple, English lacks the distinction