More day s' dispersed away
and return in the hearts of poets.
Across the fields of Poland, the flat of Kutno
with the hills of corpses burning
in clouds of steam, there are the cross
for quarantine of Israel,
the blood of waste, the torrid exanthema...
You are still the one with the stone and the sling,
Man of my time. You were in the cockpit,
With the malevolent wings, the meridians of death,
-I have seen you - in the chariot of fire, at the gallows,
At the wheels of torture. I have seen you: it was you,
With your exact science set on extermination,
Without love, without Christ. You have killed again...
Read other poems by Salvatore Quasimodo »