Milda Klampe
*
When will this world pass away?
When?
With drenched body
I run up a tree,
against the vault of heaven
I strike my head.
With drenched soul
I crawl into the unearth,
against the fiery marsh
I burn out my spirit.
Look, the empty-worded one
talks down the mute.
An unspoken word
raises up the slow.
Look, the heartless one
wins the hearts of the naive.
Look, the Single-hearted One
endures the wicked.
The dry-hearted pillar –
passes over the world –
without You will not recover.
Into You I pass over.
This world will pass away.
Then.