Rudyard Kipling
Majčin sin
Sanjao sam, sanjao strašno
Beskrajan san bez boje
O čovjeku koji je sišao s uma
A taj čovjek je sin majke moje
Bacili su ga u ludnicu
Koja je poput groba
Ne daju mu ni da se obrije
A u prizemlju mu je soba
Ne dovodi ga bolest 'vamo
Il' zločin il' druge greške
Već su na pleća sina moje majke
Navalili terete teške
Jer buka i strah od smrti,
Bdijenje, krv i zima
Preliše čašu sinu moje majke
Prekobrojnim kapima
Slomili su mu tijelo i um
Natjerali da živi dalje
I tražili od sina moje majke
Više no što itko živ daje
On nije umro, još je u službi,
Zdrav je sred vlastite kože
Baš zato kinje sina moje majke
Duže no što podnijeti može
Ne znam kad bit će mu bolje
Ali jednom će doći taj dan
Što god da kaže bradat lik u zrcalu
Znam da taj čovjek sam ja!
The Mother's Son
I have a dream -- a dreadful dream --
A dream that is never done.
I watch a man go out of his mind,
And he is My Mother's Son.
They pushed him into a Mental Home,
And that is like the grave:
For they do not let you sleep upstairs,
And you aren't allowed to shave.
And it was not disease or crime
Which got him landed there,
But because They laid on My Mother's Son
More than a man could bear.
What with noise, and fear of death,
Waking, and wounds and cold,
They filled the Cup for My Mother's Son
Fuller than it could hold.
They broke his body and his mind
And yet They made him live,
And They asked more of My Mother's Son
Than any man could give.
For, just because he had not died,
Nor been discharged nor sick,
They dragged it out with My Mother's Son
Longer than he could stick....
And no one knows when he'll get well --
So, there he'll have to be:
And, 'spite of the beard in the looking-glass,
I know that man is me!
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