My sweet memory,
you've been buried under by
a cracked tree,
by this storm of cathode rays,
terror and mirage light.
Red poppy flowers,
winds of oblivion
cause trembling
like a sleeping animal.
Sick of amnesia,
the city is silent.

Preventive wars,
the nightmares from a drunken madman
who listen to no-one.
Ghosts from Shaigon
wander without sleeping
through the old city of Scheherazade.
Cassandra said it
but you didn't believe her.
We are not safe,
we are not more free than before.
History is alive,
violent and fatal.

My sweet memory
perhaps you will be woken up
by this sad elegy.
Let your kisses bring
that other possible world
that trembles in your mouth,
that today announces.

Walls of shame
bring shadows from the past,
taking your light away,
darkening our skies.
Men and women in Cracovia,
trapped by walls,
read the Talmud under the light of a candle,
await inside the ghetto.
And in Palestine
behind another wall
a man entrusts himself to Allah,
screams and curses this world
which always forgets about him,
which ignores his crying.
Rivers of humanity escaping
from cold and hunger
dream of reaching far away,
perhaps just until tomorrow.
You no loger remember the trains
that left from here
full of your own hope
for old Germany.

Nutshells break
against your coasts.
The strait is a chasm
that saves old Europe.
From what? You don't remember anymore?
Inmigrant people,
sick of amnesia.

My sweet memory
perhaps you will be woken up
by this sad elegy.
Let your kisses bring
that other possible world
that trembles in your mouth,
that today announces.