Black Painting

The reins sway vainly,

the whip hits the air,

it won't strike you, it hasn't got you,

the reins sway vainly,

from whence departed God.

Where did He go? He alone knows that, where,

He went to fight for something,

to bring the sails of the windmills wind,

and He went and went, He alone knows where,

He went nailed to His love.

He is elsewhere, how not to put it,

one day He will return, perhaps.

See, moonstruck bailiffs

stride through godforsaken streets

snuffing out lives.

--

[Jirí Orten (30.8.1919 Kutna Hora - 1.9.1941 Prague). During the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, Orten, who was Jewish, was unable to publish under his own name. He died after being hit by a German ambulance.]