You whose name is aggressor and devourer.

Putrid and sultry, in fermentation.

You mash into pulp sages and prophets,

Criminals and heroes, indifferently.

My vocativus is useless.

You do not hear me, though I address you,

Yet I want to speak, for I am against you.

So what if you gulp me, I am not yours.

You overcome me with exhaustion and fever.

You blur my thought, which protests,

You roll over me, dull unconscious power.

The one who will overcome you is swift, armed:

Mind, spirit, maker, renewer.

He jousts with you in depths and on high,

Equestrian, winged, lofty, silver-scaled.

I have served him in the investiture of forms.

It’s not my concern what he will do with me.

A retinue advances in the sunlight by the lakes.

From white villages Easter bells resound.

“You Whose Name” by Czeslaw Milosz