By the Dead One
When comes the time rabbits will be soft
like little children hands burnt in concentration camps!
When comes the time suffering will boil
and spill like aura!
When comes the times I will be able to hang on water
and drink it, drink it!
When comes the times of punishment!
When comes the time the mill wheel
will exchange my bonds with dust of granite!
When comes the time my palm will be God!
When comes the time my breasts will bleed
so taller palm trees, pine trees will grow, you!
When will my soul look itself into its face!
Translated from the Slovenian by Michael
Thomas Taren and the author