The snake in my heart, my forehead’s stamped

The snake in my heart, my forehead’s stamped,
I’m nailed to the stake of shame
Of the old Slav conscience; yet I state:
I’m not accepting the blame.

More, I aver: I am at peace
As when the Eucharist approaches,
And if I supplicate for grace
It’s not my fault, do not reproach me.

Just look again at all I’ve got
And tell me — am I blind or senseless?—
Where is my silver? Where is my gold?
A handful of ashes — nothing else, no!

And nothing more, by charm or prayer,
Was begged from those whose life is easy.
And that is all I’m taking there,
Into the land of silent kissing.

1920