I walked out on a deal, though it showed such promise. I took nothing! Bare-naked, I bid them adieu. Not because I was itching to go, no! Other matters have surfaced, Brought from beyond the mountain blue. We learn from books, but in the end All answers come with the wind aí blowing. There are no prophets in oneís homeland But other homelands too arenít overflowing.                 Iíve been torn apart, and, as always, All the wrong people grabbed the lionís share. I am polishing floors with my heels, walking down the hallways, Up the stairs, to the attic: somethingís waiting there. The prophets are gone! Thereís nobody left! Mohammed, Zarathustra arenít showing... There are no prophets in oneís homeland But other homelands too arenít overflowing. Those who stayed behind, I can hear their wails: ďWe are better off now! Good riddance! Letís proceed!Ē Iím scratching the dirt off an icon, breaking my nails. In a hurry, because outside they are saddling steeds. The Visage faced me, luminous and sad, He spoke to me with his eyes glowing: ďThere are no prophets in your homeland But other homelands too arenít overflowing.Ē So I leap on a horse. Iíve now found my solace! Iím one with the steed! Weíll go to the horizon and through! I walked out on a deal that showed such promise! Other matters arrived from beyond the blue. I ride. The hooves crackle in the sand. This sound tells the only truth worth knowing: ďThere are no prophets in oneís homeland, But other homelands too arenít overflowing.Ē
© Mika Tubinshlak. Translation, ?
© Vadim Astrakhan. Performance, 2017