They stood above me - proudly, overhanging themselves.
I thought that into darkness they'd fall, of my spirit.
In Kościeliska valley my visions were marching
And into dust - transforming themselves - were departing.
The ghost of mighty Tatra walked through the cloudy shelves,
Drinking the blood of river and trees that were near it.
And then this stream was flowing, awaking the silence.
The mists embraced the mountain tops with white enigma.
The echoes were reflected by the sunbathed ridges.
There was no end to dancing of shadows. Like midgets
They played with rays of sunlight through laughter and violence.
The worlds were overwhelming solar thunder's stigma.
Zakopane, 7th of August 2002
