The Storm

"The heavens sense our burden:
The threat of future downpours
I carry on my back
We are drunk on wine vinegar.
The nearing storm rouses me,
It makes me want to shake the world

We are an assembly of misery.
If our hands are bloody
It is from the blood of our own wounds.
The grotesque scars
We bear on our bodies
Testify to battles fought
That went unrecognized

But then next storm will unfurl our flag
And uproot the rotted trees!
Then we together with the gusting wind,
Will scale spilberks heights,
And stand in victory on the peaks of the cliffs,
Our hair blowing freely in the wind"