Where have you been? Or rather, what have you become?
How many times has the sea changed into land?
This is for you - groan, poetry and steel,
All this is for you, so listen,
stop
To come in the dark for your own soul that one needs,
Stop to endeavour to put it into crystal glass as into chains.
Where is the road sliding on stones,
Falling into the arms of dawn
Through the saddle between the horse's ears?
And absolutely no wonder that this is all
for me,
The wind of distant wanderings in late summer -
This wind is also for me.
The burden of liberty will be mastered only by the one who is happy with it,
No one could even consider retreating,
Time's slipping away still faster, we're moving along the cliff edge,
What we face, is a thunderstorm.
Where the accomplished fact burns our fingers in the night
With an ablaze feather and dripping pitch,
The birds will bring thunder from the wasteland
And all the evil shadows will leave while dancing
over the bonfire.
Time, it's like fabric strung onto tambour,
Who is to embroider us in silver now?