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Stockholm

Стокгольм

I dreamed of Stockholm: why?
A restless, troubled dream
sprung from some different time,
almost a nightmare — almost...

A holiday, maybe: who knows?
The bell kept clanging, that bell,
like a huge organ gone mad,
and a whole city praying, buzzing, roaring...

I stood on a hill, ready
to preach. About what? To whom?
I saw the clear water,
trees, forests, fields.

“Oh God!" I cried, frightened. “What if
this is my country, this?
What if I lived here, and loved, and died,
here in this sun-filled green place?”

And I knew that I was forever lost
in the blind corridors of space and time,
and that somewhere Russian rivers were flowing
but I, I would never see them, never.

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