So little can I do but merely pray,
Ask Jesus and Maria that they give
Me a clue to grasp what you may try to say
By all those signs of yours. Why just in dream?
So it’s a lie that after death you live,
If now the pain of truth is so extreme!
You used to be sincere, whatever you said;
Now you will not allow that thoughts break free,
As if upon the field some grains of bread
Knocked down by a reaper scythe, all in good faith
- it’s so with you - In dreams you come to me,
but as a speechless and indifferent wraith.
You’re by my side, yet still so far away
That your translucent face I cannot touch.
I’m almost there - but you keep me at bay,
And mock my impotence, and off you fly.
And once again I wish, I wish so much,
I had more heart to dream with an open eye.
So wonder not - a man may doubt his senses.
Could I but feel you, yet you are a ghost.
So, do not judge me under false pretences.
You’ll understand. Your cordial conscience true,
You did once share with me. And I am most
Certain you’ll forgive me as you used to do.
You would forgive my falls (my shoes were tight);
It sure was fashion’s or shoemaker’s fault,
For in my life I, as a feather light,
Walked heedless and fast-fettered to the shoes.
They chafed me in bad weather’s mad assault,
And, luckily perhaps, were a pain to use.
Copyright © by Wiesław Musiałowski 02.10.2002
Ask Jesus and Maria that they give
Me a clue to grasp what you may try to say
By all those signs of yours. Why just in dream?
So it’s a lie that after death you live,
If now the pain of truth is so extreme!
You used to be sincere, whatever you said;
Now you will not allow that thoughts break free,
As if upon the field some grains of bread
Knocked down by a reaper scythe, all in good faith
- it’s so with you - In dreams you come to me,
but as a speechless and indifferent wraith.
You’re by my side, yet still so far away
That your translucent face I cannot touch.
I’m almost there - but you keep me at bay,
And mock my impotence, and off you fly.
And once again I wish, I wish so much,
I had more heart to dream with an open eye.
So wonder not - a man may doubt his senses.
Could I but feel you, yet you are a ghost.
So, do not judge me under false pretences.
You’ll understand. Your cordial conscience true,
You did once share with me. And I am most
Certain you’ll forgive me as you used to do.
You would forgive my falls (my shoes were tight);
It sure was fashion’s or shoemaker’s fault,
For in my life I, as a feather light,
Walked heedless and fast-fettered to the shoes.
They chafed me in bad weather’s mad assault,
And, luckily perhaps, were a pain to use.
Copyright © by Wiesław Musiałowski 02.10.2002
