What?
Has Thunder cracked
His whip?
Look!
Look behind you!
A jubilee of dust
Madness spiraling in smoke
And twisted steel.
Questions hang in the air,
Dark like the chambers of Valhalla;
Questions wed tongues
But the child is a stillbirth.
Tears have washed the streets clean
And it fails to find a meaning
In the rubble of the opium idiots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem