Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.

Rising from the past, my shadow Is running in silence to meet me.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

And you know, I agree to everything: I will condemn, I will forget, I will give comfort to the enemy, Darkness will be light and sin lovely.

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

Hands, matches, an ashtray. A ritual beautiful and bitter.

It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.