Arid road. Not a single tree.
All the more strikers raise their voices
and clench their fists like cypresses.
They are fixed to the ground for it to become
a friendly landscape on a human scale.

But I’ll say it straight out, without comparisons.
Neither vox populi nor God’s ire.
We face facts and go on living.

In the end, a comparison is suitable.
We are a deep conviction, like hidden roots, like trees.

Thus do we write History.
Though a course given to time
for us there is no one and nothing tangible.