Look how strong it is,
how well it holds its shape
in our century – hatred.
How easily it crosses obstacles,
how boldly it dares, it seizes you.
It’s not like other feelings,
like the old ones and the newer ones.
It produces its own reasons
that make it come to life.
If it dozes off, it’s not in eternal sleep.
Insomnia doesn’t weaken it at all, it strengthens it even more.
For faith or not –
all it takes is a bow, and it starts.
For country or not –
that’s enough, and it starts.
Even justice needs just a bit at the beginning,
then it carries on by itself.
Hatred. Hatred.
A grimace of frenzied love
distorts its face.
Oh, those other feelings –
so sickly and pale.
Since when has brotherhood
been able to rely on crowds?
Has compassion
ever reached its goal?
How many volunteers does doubt attract?
It only draws those who know it.
Skilled, clever, very hardworking.
But, tell me, how many songs has it composed?
How many pages has it written in the history books?
How many carpets of people has it laid out
in how many squares, stadiums?
Let’s speak the truth:
it’s quite ready to create.
Blinding are its illuminations in the dark night.
Magnificent the clouds of explosions in red dawns.
Undeniable the pathos of ruins
and the fattened humor
of the pillar that firmly dominates.
Hatred: master of contradictions
between explosion and silence,
between red blood and white snow.
And above all, it never tires
of the motif of the primped executioner
over the desecrated victim.
At any moment, it is ready for new tasks.
If it must wait, it waits.
They call it blind. Blind?!
It sees better than the eagle
and with determination, it foresees the future –
it alone.
