We are but animals on a deserted island.
Beasts who could not fit into Noah’s ark, driven
by invisible arrows and spears.
No one sent a boat to save us.
No one wrote in fiery letters on the clouds.
We wait submissively for the final night
of pitiless blue swords. All the ships,
with panic sails raised, pass us by.
There are no birds. Wind. The island wellsprings
went dry. The bread trees are fruitless.
We feel the cold and salty sand with our lips.
The nearness of the eyes and hair of those collapsed near us,
their harsh breathing, rhythmically chopping eternity
into the present’s small seconds. Silence
and the final wave which washes our feet.
We are the beasts the Scriptures do not mention. Driven
by the arrows and spears of apocalypse
into the deserted, empty coral island.
No one sent a boat to save us.
Water did not wash our names from the shifting sands.
(Henrikas Nagys)
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