Quietly April encounters us again.
Time moves in a post-post-almost-everything age:
Auckland has dreams of pink dolphins,
Petropavlosk starts to melt the winter,
Outside Lhasa the vultures are ritually fed,
Roman candles fill Rawalpindi’s firmament,
In Köningsberg another day is collapsing,
Reykjavik enjoys the tranquillity of a café,
Lisbon commemorates an old coup d’état.

Even so, a malicious tempest is brewing.
Puppets perform a sinister theatre of shadows.
Mad dogs are unleashed with a funfair.
The North Atlantic becomes a lake of darkness,
Blowing a black spring over Belgrade.

One nation battles on behalf of a continent.
A thousand aircraft pollute a sacred sky.
An old man brandishes his fist at the missiles.
Notes explode in a criminal rhapsody.
Broken bridges, memorials to global entertainment.
Oil and outrage flow with the Danube.
Columns of smoke are steel bars on the horizon.
Sirens are transformed in nightly lullabies.
Cherry flowers sweep the bomb craters.

Resisting with unbreakable tenacity,
Europe is being raped by the american ruffian.
Arrogance, violence, the nourishment of hooligans.
Civilisation survives in underground shelters,
The spirit of prince Lazar demands re-incarnation,
Barbarian invaders are ephemeral, Europe is eternal.
 

M. Daedalus