God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
The Grass Has Grown Pale

The grass has grown pale, 
the sky is cold -
my brother, Duvid, 
I am no longer looking for you on the earth.

I will now follow the clouds 
a long time with my eyes. 
I will look for you, my brother, 
in the autumn silence.

I walk with my son over the clay field, 
on the Polish roads –
O let them come, the autumn nights, 
over the bloody roads.
 

Translated by Barnett Zumoff 

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