Then
the sun grew cold
& blessings departed earth –

plants dried up in deserts
fish in seas
& the ground thenceforth
welcomed the dead to itself – 

night in all the faded windows
like a suspicious image
swarmed & surged
& set free into the darkness
the paths
of its own continuation – 

no one thought of love anymore
no one thought of conquest anymore
& nobody
thought of anything anymore – 

in the lairs of loneliness
futility came into the world
blood reeked of opium & hashish
pregnant women
gave birth to headless babies
& cradles from shame
sought asylum in tombs – 

what black & bitter days;
bread had overcome
the miraculous force of prophethood;
hungry & wretched prophets
fled their trysts with the divine
& in the stupor of the plains
Jesus' lost lambs
were deaf to the shepherd's cry – 

in the eyes of mirrors
movements & colors & images
appeared upside down;
& above the heads of the vile & the hideous
the clown & the prostitute
a shining sacred halo burned
like an umbrella aflame – 

stagnant pools of alcohol
with their acrid poison-vapors
drew the inert masses of intellectuals
into their depths
& noxious rats
gnawed on the gold inlay of books
in ancient kists;
the sun had died
the sun had died
& in the mind of children
“tomorrow”
was mute, lost – 

in their homework
they portrayed with a black blot
the strangeness of this obsolete word – 

the people,
a fallen clutch of the people,
downcast & scrawny & stupefied,
beneath the burden of the cursedness of their carcasses
went from one exile to another
& the painful desire for crime
swelled up in their hands – 

sometimes a spark, an insignificant spark
suddenly stirred up this
silent lifeless crowd from inside;
they fell upon each other;
men slashed each others' throats
with knives
& in bloody beds
lay with immature girls – 

during executions always
when the pressure of the noose
made the convulsed eyes of the condemned
bulge from their sockets
they were lost inside themselves
& their old & tired nerves ached
racked by concupiscent fancy;
always at the edges of the squares
you saw these little killers
who stopped
& stared
at the constant fall of the fountains – 

perhaps still
behind the crushed eyes, in the depths of the congelation
something half-alive & bewildered
remained
which in its breathless efforts wanted
to have faith in the purity of the waters' voice:
perhaps, but what emptiness without end;
the sun had died
& nobody knew
that the name of that doleful dove
which had fled from hearts was faith – 

oh! O jailed voice
will the splendor of your despair never
from out this repugnant night
strike up toward the light?
oh, O jailed voice
O last voice of voices!
 
* Translator’s note: âyeh-hâ, that is to say verses from the Quran or another holy book, and not verses of poetry or song.