That's not me shouting, it's the earth that
roars, beware, beware, for Satan is raving,
better lie low deep in a clear stream,
flatten yourself into a pane of glass,
hide behind the light of diamonds,
among insects under stones,
go hide inside the fresh-baked bread,
you poor man, you poor man.
With the fresh rain seep into the ground,
it's useless to plunge into yourself when
only in others' eyes can you bathe your face.
Be the edge of a small blade of grass,
you'll be greater than the world's axis.
O machines, birds, leaves and stars!
Our barren mother is praying for a child.
My friend, my dear, beloved friend,
it may be horrible or splendid, but that's
not me shouting, it's the earth that roars.
Attila József
