When the diluvial Polish night thickens into a hard walnut shell, I cease to breathe and I observe. The mountain blocks the view, a huge black lump tucked into the bottom of a black lake. The scene travels through the night slowly like a history before language, and painfully like a rain worm through one’s spinal chord. Then deep down squeezed inside the capillary of night I notice a faint light climbing up the incised mountain path. Someone is going somewhere, saving the world.  

© translated by Damir Šodan

Kada se potop poljske noći ugusti u orahovu ljusku, prestajem disati i promatram. Planina zastire pogled, crna gromada ukopana u dno crnog jezera. Prizor se probija kroz noć sporo kao povijest prije jezika, mučno kao glista kroz leđnu moždinu. I onda duboko, stiješnjeno u okoštaloj kapilari noći ugledam slabo svjetlo kako se uspinje putom usječenim u planinu. Netko nekamo odlazi i spašava svijet.

© Ivan Šamija