Civilian things are few, there’s no reprieve
These rainy times with soldiers beating drums
We don’t have days, just military leave,
And babies jump saluting from their mums.
The clocks resound like soldiers’ boots this morning
They screech on jilted, barren sand which stings
For thirty wars start monthly without warning
And all are carrying death within their wings.
And even death has lost its charm and poise
These rainy times of drills and conscript days
Near budding linden trees the arms make noise
While stars are gunning us with death-filled rays.
It’s easy to acknowledge, though it rankles,
For like a yoke you feel it on the way,
The fact that from one’s conscience to one’s ankles
A man is just a uniform today.
Civilian things are scarce and hard to tell
For even heartaches lack civilian beat
And stern recruitment seems to augur well
For sheepish tame civilians in defeat
But troopers simile! It’s resurrection mass,
When babies jump saluting from their mums
As per the statute to salute their brass
In rainy times with soldiers beating drums.
Translator: Daniel Ioniță
see more poems written by: Adrian Păunescu
