Freedom or Death

Perhaps not the best translation but here we go. It’s the first one and suggestions are welcome…

On the morning’s platform
in a photograph
the girl of flowery eyes
the first snow flake
of winter, the second
world war
she sleeps as we run
across the garden
and out the gate
all former things forsaken
abandoned rooms
the wine glasses of red lips
the imprints of conqueror’s
boot marks trampled in the thick
carpet of the salon
time broken to slivers
all former things forsaken
the whole life
the soft metal of the pointers
bent unrecognizable
we stand on the morning’s platform
girl and man
still waiting for the one train
on the way to freedom
or death


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