| Eesti keeles


 

In the moon’s backyard

in eternity’s foyer

the pale home of the winds

From the commandments fashioned from a guard’s desk

the ancient rainbow’s forecaster

reads the names of all the stars

Sitting around expressively

the moon men are arranging their hair,

in their mouths rolls made of coarse moon rock

again they raise the grades

for those whose time has passed into past

for those whose time is measured by history

 

The Icarus express left blood transfusion

 station behind

past the past

last stop oblivion

 

We have nothing, we do not exist

and this land which we breeze past

may as well be dust

What we change or what we become

what is this, which is not and this

which we strive to capture?

This is the wind.

 

It’s nothing, you don’t exist

and the horizon which you were reaching for

does not exist either

now throw off the harnesses and toss them on the peg

and together with us become something

which rocks the mountains.

You are wind.

 

In the sky, the home of the winds

blue, white.