"A traitor among us!"-
They cried. It might be so
If it exists.
I was surprised to hear it,
Because nobody knew what to do.
And each of them was sure that
He or she is acquainted with
The truth.
But the truth did not exist.
I put my pen
On the clear scratch paper
And looked through the window.
There are no traitors
Where I live. A traitor can not
Live in City of Traitors indeed.
I did not beleive in it as
I could not beleive in what I see
Or what I hear.
The big hand of the clock came to ten,
But I did not know what to write
On my scratch paper.
I took my pen and wrote the name of the
Story or poem and threw it into the
Corner of my room. I really did not know
What to write, but understood that the idea
Of talking rot to snow-white sheet of paper
Was at that moment the worst thing in the world.
But the idea of being like everyone who writes
No lie seemed to me blasphemous too.
I was sure I must write something else.
I looked through the window again.
All the lamps were shining wanly,
The street was dark and silent.
Shadows knew that
The truth did not exist...