It will all become watching silence
When your two eagles fly
With their wings unbroken,
When your gallant horses run
With their strength unaltered.
It will become a watching silence
When your black soil,
Loam! Loam!
Which is spread across
The burial site of
Some flowerless flowers
Mingling with unproductivity
Becomes fertile
For the oil and for all.
Only then, when all these be
Only when all these be
Will prospering violent tongues of fire
Speaking the language you understand
But fail to hear,
Become ambassadors of watching silence.
Till then, enjoy the hard harsh tones of rushing violence
You clamourers for sudden silence.
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