They plucked the boy's eyes out. His eyes were plucked out.
For those eyes were angry and slanted.
"Let the days be as nights to him"
the colonel himself laughed the loudest,
and put a dollar in the executioners fist,
then the colonel pushed his hair aside
so that he could see how the boy would walk off,
groping about with his hands.
In May of 1945
prematurely I bid farewell to hatred
and stashed it among my souvenirs
of a time of terror, violence and disgrace.
Today I'm bracing myself for it again.
Its fervor is and will be necessary for me.
And it's your fault, too --
you colonel, you disgraceful jester.
-translated by Walter Whipple