YOU GIVE yourself to me, like a flower that blossoms at night, whose presence is known by the dew that drips from it, by the odour shed through the darkness, as the first steps of Spring are by the buds that thicken the twigs. You break upon my thought like waves at the high tide, and my heart is drowned under surging songs. My heart knew of your coming, as the night feels the approach of dawn. The clouds are aflame and my sky fills with a great revealing flood.
FREEDOM FROM fear is the freedom I claim for you, my Motherland!-fear, the phantom demon, shaped by your own distorted dreams; Freedom from the burden of ages, bending your head, breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning call of the future; Freedom from shackles of slumber wherewith you fasten yourself to night's stillness, mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous path; Freedom from the anarchy of destiny, whose sails are weakly yielded to blind uncertain winds, and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as Death; Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world, where movements are started through brainless wires, repeated through mindless habits; where figures wait with patient obedience for a master of show to be stirred into a moment's mimicry of life.
