Faces In Swamps Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

…And overnight our thoughts grew gray. The sun
Sowed poison salt on open wounds. We choke.
White doves turned into owls. They're poking fun,
Mocking our dream that disappeared in smoke.

Why tremor, earth? Did you crack too, in trance?
Your nostrils smelled the stench of victim's flesh?
Devour us! We were cursed by overconfidence,
Devour us with our children, with our flags so fresh!

You're thirsty, earth. We, wailing pumps, will fill
With gold of our young bodies your newly opened pits.
A spiderweb of faces in a swamp will spin to kill:
Faces in a swamp—over the sunset, over huts…

II

Serpents of darkness: nooses choke
My breath.
Horseradish in my eyes, I toss
In a grater dungeon—
Each toss grates my skin.
Were there anything human, familiar…

My hand gropes: a piece of glass, the moon
Trembles imprisoned like me in the vise
Of the iron night. I grow tense:
'This was created by a human hand!'

In the glass edge I stroke the moon:
'You want? — I give you my life as a gift!'
But life is hot and the glass is cold
And it's a shame to put it to my throat…