The sky of today looks so clear, but now the armor is clanking in it. And thereís a rumble on our earth, and the trees are in tar, all lonesome. Everyone had gone, away from misfortunes. Singing birds are now gone - the ravens are here! The grain in color of amber - will we have the time? No. It looks like in vain we have sowed. What is gleaming with the color of amber? It is a fire raging in the field. The smoke and ashes rise - like the crosses. The storks donít build their nests on our roofs. And the trees are in dust in the autumn. Those who couldnít sing - gave it up. And the love is not for us - isnít that so? What do we all need now? Hatred! Nothing else. I lie smoke and ashes rise - like the crosses. I lie storks donít build their nests on our roofs. Yet the earth and the water - moaning. Yet the forest, like all times - with crowns. Only there are more wonders - the forest is hallooing with the prewar sounds. Everyone has gone, away from misfortunes. They head for the East, there are no singing birds - The storks are gone. The air quietly stores different sounds, but something is roaring in it, clanking loud. Even the noise of hoofs - tramping. If someone will scream - whispering. Everyone went their ways to the East, and there are no storks above our roofs...
© Nathan Mer. Translation, 1991