Immersed into the waters,
washed,
and soaked
down to the fibres
of the heart
by the Deluge.

The wish
to occupy the land
this side of tear-filled borders
is of no use.

The wish to celebrate
the bloom of Spring
and to be spared
is of no use.

Of use is just the hope
that she, de Dove
will bring
the olive branch.

And that the fruit
be colourful
just as its blossoms.

That still its leaves
make up a shining crown
upon the earth.

And that we shall be freed,
released from the Deluge
and from the Lion's den.

Be sent,
as hurt and healed
into the custody of self.
In perpetuity.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/translation-poem-by-hilde-domin-bitte/