KRIICH
De loftskippen stean
stil
te wachtsjen, spoarleas
tebekwike as
ferweesde
astronauten sûnder sike.
De loft ûntjout him
wider
en wjerkeatst in lichter lûd,
de kime leit fierder
fuort
foar wa’t de fierte
siket.
Dochs jou ik ferbiten
en
ferside yn de
fjochtgroppen
fan de nije tiid gjin
belies:
sadree‘t de striid belunet
sil ik foar de wyn rimpen
nei myn loftkastielen
sile.
SPIRIT
The airships stand still
waiting without a trace,
taken aback and lost
as breathless astronauts.
The sky is getting wider
rebounding lighter sounds,
the horizon is further away
for those who seek expanse.
Determined though and hidden
in the trenches of a new age
I will not renounce my plans:
once the struggle is over,
a tailwind will swiftly sail me
to my castles far away.
