This will be a night in deep snow <br />which has the power to muffle steps <br />in deep shadow transforming <br />bodies to two puddles of darkness <br />we lie holding our breath <br />and even the slightest whisper of thought <br /> <br /> <br />if we are not tracked down by wolves <br />and the man in a Russian sheepskin who swings <br />quick-firing death on his chest <br />we must spring and run <br />in the clapping of short dry salvos <br />to that other longed-for shore <br /> <br /> <br />the earth is the same everywhere <br />wisdom teaches everywhere the man <br />weeps with white tears <br />mothers rock their children <br />the moon rises <br />and builds a white house for us <br /> <br /> <br />this will be night after hard reality <br />a conspiracy of the imagination <br />it has a taste of bread and lightness of vodka <br />but the choice to remain here <br />is confirmed by every dream about palm trees <br /> <br /> <br />the dream is interrupted suddenly by the arrival of three <br />tall men of rubber and iron <br />they will check your name your fear <br />order you to go downstairs <br />they won’t allow you to take anything <br />but the compassionate face of the janitor <br /> <br /> <br />Hellenic Roman Medieval <br />East Indian Elizabethan Italian <br />perhaps above all French <br />a bit of Weimar and Versailles <br />we carry so many homelands <br />on the shoulders of a single earth <br /> <br /> <br />but the only one guarded <br />by the most singular number <br />is here where they will trample you into the ground <br />or with boldly ringing spade <br />make a large pit for your longing<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-answer-14/
