These are the cities of splen­dour and ruin
where he got crushed in a moment
by heavy his­to­ry set­tled in every cob­ble­stone
of a seem­ing­ly unim­por­tant alley
as he was try­ing under the sun’s hell
to mem­o­rize all the fuss of many a bat­tle
list­ed by the skilled guide
dur­ing which all the haughty wil­helms, johans and friedrichs
in the name of faith
folk
aris­to­crat­ic hon­our
god
etc.
(and this same star was scorch­ing also then
with the same indif­fer­ence
this beau­ti­ful old den)
mount­ed their gra­cious studs
and start­ed con­quer­ing about wild­ly
and build­ing
(while the ring of cat­a­combs was swelling
like a hard rid­dle around that hum­ble town)
the pearl on the Elbe
with gold­en angels on the domes’ tops
who stretch their hands in the sun­set
and hov­er above the city as the silent shim­mer dwin­dles
(or is it mere­ly drum­ming in his eyes
crushed by so much beau­ty?)
just as if the skies nev­er vom­it­ed here
and peo­ple and stone were not siz­zling
their dust mix­ing in the same mash
as the Elbe was flow­ing
as lazy as the Danube
and swelling occa­sion­al­ly with anger
when nobody expect­ed
plain­ly uncar­ing for the some city
raped rav­ing­ly first and last
in the crater of Europe
in the brave last cen­tu­ry
in all dif­fer­ent anno dominis…

…but look at a Sax­on beau­ty pass­ing
sway­ing her hips across the square
(which can be e.g. also the one in Bel­grade)
nev­er giv­ing a damn for the gloomy proud horse­men
blind for the glo­ry of the opera
the glam­our of the acad­e­my
whistling at the saints on the facades
tram­pling care­less­ly on the ancient street
and onto this sticky after­noon
giv­ing a toss for a thou­sand years
of blood and glo­ry
as she goes off to splash around
with her gor­geous legs in the palace foun­tain
when all the gory epics of uni­verse
is com­pen­sat­ed sud­den­ly
by a cer­tain sense.

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