Smoke of War - Helengard

Horizon touched by black smoke,

Rising in a morning fire

Isn’t this what I dreamed about,

Aren’t the crows screaming for war to come?

Yonder I will follow the flock of birds,

Only the sun will touch the sky,

A lynx will leave a trace

On snowy light landscapes

In the morning,

With the migration of snow-white clouds,

I’ll go hence, and the boughs

Will drop a shawl under my feet

In the new morning, through endless fields,

I’ll go away, beyond the horizon

Where the birds are in exile

For black smoke

I’ll follow all the storms,

On the way of birds flown away

And their forgotten traces on snow

In the morning, I’ll follow a Pallas' cat,

That smelled fresh prey,

I’ll onward speed and on my cheekbones

Will snow fall and remain there evermore.

The smoke of black fires

Spreads in the distance closing half of the sky,

The logs of burned dwellings,

Push their bony fingers through the ice.

Above the ash of old gardens,

The winds blow in their impotent rage,

Pain of wrested words,

Grows from the charred sky.

You, my burnt motherland

You are hot ardent ash,

Is this you, on whom I have to sprinkle water???

Touch… Die but avenge…