Alfred Lichtenstein
Prophecy
Sometimes - I have a secret feeling -
A storm blows from the far-off North.
Soon, soon we’ll hear the sound of killing
And every place will stink of death.
The sky turns dark; the storm is raising
With giant claws, your feet from ground.
The glitzy superstructures shaken.
Comedians froth and girls run mad.
Crash! No escape! There goes a stable!
Not even a fly can breathe. You’re dead!
Exposed, the kingdom of the sexual.
Beautiful youths fall out of bed.
The walls of tenements crack open.
In every stream, the fish go bad.
The omnibuses screech, are broken.
Our world is coming to an end.
1913
translated by Merryn Williams
Page(s) 41
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