Smoke Of War

Horizon touched by black smoke
Rising in a morning fire
Isn't this what I dreamed about
Aren't the crows screaming for war to come?

Yonder I will follow the flock of birds
Only the sun will touch the sky
A lynx will leave a trace
On snowy light landscapes
In the morning
With the migration of snow-white clouds
I'll go hence, and the boughs
Will drop a shawl under my feet.

In the new morning, through endless fields
I'll go away, beyond the horizon
Where the birds are in exile
For black smoke.

I'll follow all the storms
On the way of birds flown away
And their forgotten traces on snow
In the morning, I'll follow a Pallas' cat
That smelled fresh prey
I'll onward speed and on my cheekbones
Will snow fall and remain there evermore.

The smoke of black fires
Spreads in the distance closing half of the sky
The logs of burned dwellings
Push their bony fingers through the ice
Above the ash of old gardens
The winds blow in their impotent rage
Pain of wrested words
Grows from the charred sky.

You, my burnt motherland
You are hot ardent ash
Is this you, on whom I have to sprinkle water?
Touch... Die but avenge.