In spring I go to war
To sing or to die.
What do I care for my own troubles?
Today I shatter them, laughing in pieces.
...
A dung heap of rotting corpses:
Glazed eyes, bloodshot,
Brains split, guts spewed out
The air poisoned by the stink of corpses
...
Cities are so far away, humans live there.
The knot chokes at your throat, a gray
horror caresses your limbs. Who will freedom behold?
When, at last, will the grubs rise up?
...
The people's conscience squats
on a worm-eaten pole.
Around the pole dance the bones of three children.
...
They chisel their force into the dawning sky.
They forge their steeled selves on the precipice.
They split through the fog like axes
so that each breath shatters around them.
...
Starry sky.
To restrain the beast
my rifle glows,
to fix the black barrel
...
Through the grill of my cell
I see children playing.
Pinned there, shrinking there,
prison-years… torture-years…
...
In early evening the cell flares up.
Thin shadows slide down the gray walls.
He who cries out in mutiny exhausts into a dream.
The brown stillness sweeps over like a gentle wave.
...
Death-prone, the bodies
forked in mutiny
against the collar
of the uncooked plague,
...