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Pesma detinjstva

  

Song of Childhood

Pesma detinjstva

Kad je dete bilo dete
hodalo je mašući rukama
želelo je da potok bude reka
reka da bude ponornica
i ova bara da bude more.

Kad je dete bilo dete
nije znalo da je dete,
sve je imalo dušu,
i sve su duše bile jedna.

Kad je dete bilo dete
nije imalo svoje mišljenje,
nije imalo navike,
često je sedelo prekrštenih nogu,
neprestano trčeći,
imalo je kovitlac u kosi,
i nije se kreveljilo pri fotografisanju.

Kad je dete bilo dete,
postavljalo je ova pitanja:
Zašto sam ja baš ja a ne ti?
Zašto sam ovde a ne tamo?
Kad je počelo vreme
i gde se prostor završava?
Da nije možda život pod Suncem
samo jedan san?
Nije li ono što vidim, čujem i osećam
samo odraz nekog Sveta pre ovog?
Postoji li zapravo zlo, i ljudi
koji su stvarno zli?
Kako to da JA uopšte kao da nisam postojao
pre nego što sam postao JA,
I da jednom JA, koji sam
više neću biti JA?

Kad je dete bilo dete,
u tuđem se krevetu jednom probudilo,
i potom nikad prestalo.
Mnogo ljudi mu se tada činilo dobrim,
a sada samo par, ako je sreće.
   Song of Childhood

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.

When the child was a child
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.

When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in hair,
and made no faces when photographed.

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the Sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Does evil really exist and people
who really evil are?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist
before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?

When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.