You think
that by wearing a green spectacle
these dry meadows
will turn verdant and fresh
these hapless harvests
will pluck out their autumnal garb
like a dry leaf
at the hands of which merciless winds,
loses its being.

You think
that just because of the laughter on your lips
the bitterness of this environment
will self-destruct and die
but this is not possible.

Why not snatch the trembling helplessness
from the lips of our environment?
Let us pluck out the moonlight
which hides behind a ruined wall,
let us look for light.
Life is our birthright
Let us save it from death.