Still in my dreams timid
you are
in church spires
tenement houses enveloped
napping
within a bouquet of homely Borderland
greenery
you awake slowly
urged
by whip of a hackney driver
the whinnying of horses
from boundless fields
narrow streets
you are stretching leisurely
rising
with opening shop windows
motley market stalls
like a lady beautifying herself in her boudoir
you settle upon the loveliest hues of a morning fresh
and now
in all your splendor
miscellaneous
among the shawls of street vendors
whitewashed walls
Jewish yarmulkes
you can admire yourself
in the mirror of the blue skies
which your beauty
since the dawn of time
have secretly envied
Translated with the assistance of Renata Przybyło-Karolak