Voi ces of birds from the garden are for everyone, he muses, they
do not care about me, neither do they know.
And
I,
instead of screaming and beating my head against the floor ,
admire the cloudless sky.
Soon that tale, never started, will pass away and 1 with it.
A cat sleeps in the sun, the world continues and does not need the
signs of testimony.
For nothing would have resulted from them, except the
realization that we are poor humans.
Guardians of prison trains, then prisoners ourselves, the torturers
and the tortured.
Only 1 do not understand why 1 should constantly remember
those things.
And accuse myself of events stronger than myself.
Longing for the thunderbolt of a stroke to liberate me from
images of this earth.
An old man, serene, liked by his neighbors - he greets passersby,
and envies them their innocence.
That is what they have , he muses, if they have not been submitted
to a test.
Translated from the Polish by the author and Robert Hass
