If I returned there
I surely wouldn't find
a single shadow from my house
or the trees from my childhood
or the cross with the iron plate
the bench where I whispered spells
chestnuts and blood
or anything which is ours
everything which survived
is a stone disc
with a chalk circle
I stand in the center
on one foot
a moment before jumping
I can't grow
although the years pass
and up above roar
the planets and wars
I stand in the center
unmoving like a monument
on one foot
before jumping into finality
the chalk circle reddens
just like old blood
mounds grow all around
ash
to the shoulder
to the mouth
--Zbigniew Herbert (trans. by blogger)
