I dream a dream: Sergei walks through the world,  
around him roars the living stream of time.  
But every step is some hid mystery's bright  
reflection — I see a world God shapes in secret rhyme.

I dream a dream: my family is with me,  
three sons alive, who laugh in the day's surge.  
Yet all I see within this circle, free,  
is only God, made manifest as me.

I dream a dream: Varvara walks beside,  
my love, my light, my single guiding star.  
And with her warmth, her gentle grace my guide,  
I dream where neither dark nor evil are.

I dream a dream: my mother gives her hand,  
her eyes — a sky above a river's flow.  
But hushed behind her smile there waits, unplanned,  
the One who leads us through the deep we cannot know.

I dream a dream: my friends sit gathered round,  
their voices pouring outward, water-clear,  
but in each word that passes us, this sound:  
"It is God alone who leads us, year by quiet year."

I dream a dream: where labor drifts unhurried,  
as though all life created its own way,  
not I who toil — within my hands, unburied,  
the Maker works, and every instant burns like day.

I dream a dream: how light and shadow sway,  
weaving their pattern through the nighttime's hush.  
So God paints Himself in creation,  
and every moment is a glint of that Eternal Soul.

But, after all, is it I who see this day?  
Who am I — man, son, father, or the shade?  
Or is it God in me who dreams the play,  
and "I" a trace of His unseen height, displayed?

It is not I who "see" — through me God SEES,  
He pierces into the world with every gaze,  
and "my" own life — a dream, where each step is like a current,  
and HE lives on through my brief earthly haze…
