In the quiver of your voice
I hear my urge to shout
In your too black eyes
I see the future, yours and mine.
I know the rage that breaks your heart.
Maladjusted, derided, feared, scared,
bitten, sucked, spat, forgotten.
Maybe even respected, but who cares?
Hungry for bread and a caress,
sure only of the clench of your fist,
you are a predator, an executioner,
you are immobile, laid on the cross.
They will teach you to laugh, to mask yourself,
to make love to a woman,
to beg, to always find the right word,
maybe even to dream, maybe even to hope.
Translation by Katie Hepworth