Stockholm Photographer

Nikolai G.

Why did I dream about him, confused, discordant,
Born from the depths not of our times,
That dream about Stockholm, so restless,
Such perishing almost and joyless dream…
May was a holiday, I don't know probably,
But all the bells, the bells were ringing;
Like a powerful organ, shaken immensely,
The whole city was praying, buzzing, rumbling…
Standing on the mountain I like people
Something I wanted to preach about,
And saw transparent quiet water,
Surrounding groves, forests and fields.
"Oh, God —" I cried in alarm, " what if
This country is truly the birthplace of me?
Here it is I loved and died here,
Green and Sunny in this country?»
And I realized that I was lost forever
In blind transitions of spaces and times,
And somewhere streams of native rivers,
To which I way forever barred.