We Mothers Rock Into The Heart Of

Instead Of A Homeland I Hold The Metamorphoses Of The World.

But Silence Is Where Victims Dwell.

To Me, A Fairy Tale Seems To Have Become Reality.

When Sleep Leaves The Body Like Smoke And Man, Sated With Secrets, Drives The Overworked Nag Of Quarrel Out Of Its Stall, Then The Fire-breathing Union Begins Anew . . .

We Mothers Rock Into The Heart Of The World The Melody Of Peace.