Leave me alone,
Me, the babbler
And do not take away my horse,
My saddle-cover and my provision,
Because a restive thought
Has drawn me out of my house.
I have returned from a land
Where no happiness is found.
I have seen lands
Which are the bases of vicious rebels
Who occupy themselves with massacres;
Lands, with spring planted in every corner,
Not flowers, but the wounds of men slain.
On my way, I thought in vain
That any traveller could pass
Through this desert of death
If he had a heart of steel
And could nonchalantly observe good and evil,
Taking all problems easily,
Knowing this world
As the place of hatred and murder,
The place of destruction and wretchedness.
But now I see that my return,
With all the wisdom I put to use,
Has been to the same desert of death,
And the horrible nightmares that have been
My memories from my journey
And still alive before my eyes,
Burning my existence
In their annihilating fire.
For me, a ruined man of travel,
There is not a moment of time to stay;
Now I am more plundered than anyone else;
I have lost whatever I had,
My heart of steel is no longer with me;
I was nothing but my heart,
And now I see
That my heart of steel is left behind on the way;
There is no doubt
That my heart has been thrown
By those malicious people
Into the arms of a spring
Whose flowers, as I said,
Are of blood and wounds.
And now I am thinking that my heart of steel
Would change,
Rusting in the blood of my brothers
So innocently, so unjustly slain.
