Śniadanie z Bogiem [English translation]

My God leans over me.

'Rise' he says, despite darkness out of window

while a dream demands a conclusion.

He knows no sleep, so He's hasting

to brush teeth, to fast breaking,

with all His sweet persuasion.

My God did not make the world in a week

at work – he's rather meek.

He makes mistakes and swears,

Engrossed in detail loses plot

doesn't know where to start and to end

and fusses it's all my fault.

He can't get enough

of wrong turns -

stubborn guy

My Lord

More often helpless than helpful

won't let go of a chance

to interject into another soul's pain.

With reason he’s always at odds

but can't waive it away

he can't shrug it off.

Wherever in the world something's up

there, like thorn in heel, He'll slide in

perpetual emergency

He gives away eternity for that moment

when He leans over someone caringly

Despite his sore back

He hears a knock

Whoever he could

invite he would

My Lord.

He's grieving his heavenly Brethren,

because they ask a high price,

For their readiness to grace and punish.

But He admires them as well

for potence, for certainty,

And for inhuman resourcefulness

Himself He struggles counting

he can't calculate other's virtues

nor harvest fruit of sin.

A bit flashy, a bit vain

always feels he owes someone

so any pig can screw Him over

and each debt

knocks Him out

His own foe

My Lord.

No wonder he can't take it sometimes

starts drinking like He lived in a tavern

and loses mind in carnalisations

I search for Him then in booze-dens

and offer a wedge in the morning

for He goes crazy – I’m hungover.

So He's nodding over breakfast

silent like shame, like a comma

that can't handle simplest truths

That darkness awaits outside

That He's got to die when I die

But He wants to live so bad

He never wastes tears

on the threshold of gloom

So powerful He is

My Lord.