Page 218 - Features of an Era
P. 218
Chapter II
The weary clock struck
His kind mother raised her eyes
)The gun stocks pushed him into the vehicle)
The weary clock struck
She rose and arranged his study
(A hand slapped him
Allah’s hand led him into temptation)
The weary clock struck
His mother sat and darned his socks
)He was pierced by the interrogator’s eyes
flooding his skin with blood and answers(
The weary clock struck
The weary clock struck
Chapter III
On descending upon the people’s square
Do not offer them your «Peace be with you»
Now, they are serving your young on platters
After setting fire to the nest,
The straw and the spike
Tomorrow, they slaughter you
Searching for the treasure in your gizzard
Tomorrow,
Millennia-old cities turn into tented cities
Cities ascending the steps to the scaffold
Chapter IV
The cruel clock struck
They stood in the empty, sullen squares
In a circle on the steps of the memorial
Like trees of flame
Among their delicate leaves, the wind blasted
Moaning: «My country, My country»
)My distant country)
The cruel clock struck
«Look», cried out a beauty
Lounging in a car with foreign plates
The second muttered:
«When the cold arrives
And fatigue sets in,
They will leave»
The cruel clock struck
218
The weary clock struck
His kind mother raised her eyes
)The gun stocks pushed him into the vehicle)
The weary clock struck
She rose and arranged his study
(A hand slapped him
Allah’s hand led him into temptation)
The weary clock struck
His mother sat and darned his socks
)He was pierced by the interrogator’s eyes
flooding his skin with blood and answers(
The weary clock struck
The weary clock struck
Chapter III
On descending upon the people’s square
Do not offer them your «Peace be with you»
Now, they are serving your young on platters
After setting fire to the nest,
The straw and the spike
Tomorrow, they slaughter you
Searching for the treasure in your gizzard
Tomorrow,
Millennia-old cities turn into tented cities
Cities ascending the steps to the scaffold
Chapter IV
The cruel clock struck
They stood in the empty, sullen squares
In a circle on the steps of the memorial
Like trees of flame
Among their delicate leaves, the wind blasted
Moaning: «My country, My country»
)My distant country)
The cruel clock struck
«Look», cried out a beauty
Lounging in a car with foreign plates
The second muttered:
«When the cold arrives
And fatigue sets in,
They will leave»
The cruel clock struck
218
