Like a concrete slab above us
the murderous threat grinds down once more.
Dismay and feverish tumult hold us,
within our souls we mutter 'War!'
I see that tumult everywhere:
in every fact'ry stack and flue,
I see it in the sunset there
and in the sky so calm and blue.
When one's encircled and shut in
as we are now on every side,
is it really such s sin
a little spot for love to hide?
Is it a sin - I wish you'd say -
that even when the workshops' din
is rent by angry bullet spray
I've time to think, 'I love her still'?
Yes, our tiny world of love
is very narrow, it is true,
that's why with eyes fixed straight ahead
I sing so short a song for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem