O stranger did you sail from the flammable fires of the east?
Heading for the unknown, into the misty side of the world;
there you were standing on the prow, staring at the horizon
with wide eyes like an overseer watching the storm
closing-the first witness and among the count of deaths.
Awarding your back to the past and an eye on the inspiring future,
however they were all alike-merged into each other’s dice.

Meanwhile, did the wind give you passage
or was it the track of migrant birds?
Since no other way brings us to unknown shores,
as the past wouldn’t be easily swept on paper and abandoned.
For they say undignified are those who flee the homeland,
revealing that no prosper of happiness will be but shame.
Why does it matter though? We’re crucified here.

O stranger, we’ve heard that you descend from those who turned
into ashes and sculptures through the torture of war’s flames;
they refused to cease their hopes but it was reinforced
by the uncountable counts of loss and ceased.
We have heard of them so little that we’ve forgotten
if they ever existed or had roots in our tumbling worlds:
they were besieged.

Their reminiscence kept us still,
frozen and emotionless as we heard of their destiny;
they awaited heroic dawns of peace to heal
the twinges about their lifeless flesh.
Send them our acknowledgment and prayers-
but O stranger will you return?