Still they fix the bolt of their heart;
Motionless they lie flat on the bed
Like corpses having no dreams.
It is the law of the Sun that he, behind
The scenes, cuts down incessantly
The deep forest-darkness of the night;
Still they forget the memory of dawn, forget
The procession of light in the horizon.
Saying ‘Rise! Rise! ‘, I spread in the air
My untiring call like that of crickets;
One house wakes up,
Millions lie down calm and lifeless
Into the unfathomable sleep.
That is why, remaining vigilant the whole night,
I write this leaflet with the letters of blood.
Those who are the non-burnt snake-bitten corpses
In the crematorium of dream-eater night;
Those who float like dead animals
In the current of bad luck;
Those who do not see any sky over their heads, only
They see the naked darkness floating everywhere;
Those who, dipping the water-loving swan-body
Into that deep darkness, forget the country
Of the sun and forget the post-office and
Villages of light;
Remember, beyond this obstinate darkness,
There exists the blue sky;
Beyond this obstinate darkness,
There exists the abode of the Sun.
