Now that my sight comes back to me again,
I see, and feel it with my body’s every part,
that, like a mirror on a stone breaks up to bits,
so, breaking with a bang, did break my heart
Each of the pieces surely does not cease
to be a witness to my being till I'm gone.
— Don't trample on me yet in judgment, Time,
until I have picked up the splinters, one by one.
I'll pick them up and piece them, bit by bit,
together till my fingers hurt with blood.
However I may try my art, to make them fit,
they will show up my face forever cracked.
Now only, in my sadness, as I comprehend
the painful process, I begin to feel the pain
of wanting once to see myself reflected whole in these,
the scattered splinters cast upon the seven seas…
Translated from the Yiddish by J. Sonntag.