Wizard in a mad house. By Helena Santic Isakov. Translated with Charles Elffers.

The native, for whom we all now vote,

of course always liked venison,

hit the ground with an arrow

as his target was distant;

so that he, satiated could bring

another day to an end.

He drew his bow; missing,

and became a diviner.

The earth gave birth

and fruits sprouted,

which were gathered and applauded,

which did not please him.

a diviner wishing to wander

in his own attire.

Meanwhile nothing …

The fresh venison got to him:

the most beautiful women

have never left him behind;

he owned them all at once,

and in that important moment

he conjured up a real ottoman:

No one understood it,

only he got to enjoy and know it,

for the logical necessity

of the elementary bed,

and again the most beautiful women arrived;

but he did not want to see them anymore.

He wanted paper to write something,

“but where?” he mumbled;

and when he drew untidy shapes

in the mud,

a mob, soon gathered round him,

putting the ring on his finger,

as a symbol of adoration,

and proclaimed him a wizard.

Afterwards he cooked like all celestines,

with the cats and mice in the same pot,

he spoke Chinese in the Arctic,

talking loudly with his dead grandpa in Europe.

After his clan died out,

and tribes spread over the whole world;

he no longer had a quorum,

nothing helped him.

How is it possible for the wizard

to get admitted into a mad house?

He could at least write poems.

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