to Andre Timmermans
We have no wine here to regale us
So let our tears serve as wine!
Let’s pour. This drink we have in surplus,
Our hearts it’ll burn right through with brine.
Perhaps its bitterness will succour
The pain in our wounded hearts...
Let’s pour, and with the pain and rancour
Let Nineteen Forty Three depart.
You’re going, are you, you old gaffer,
Departing from this earth forever?
You’ve locked us up inside a clink.
Farewell! To hopes of better fortune,
I raise my brimming glass and drink.
It’s time the massacre abated.
It’s time the flow of blood had ceased.
Let our torments be sedated!
May our hearts rejoice in peace!
And may the oncoming New Year
From our shackles set us free.
And may it dry our bitter tears
And bring us joy of liberty!
In its sunshiny healthful radiance
The prison cough will soon die down.
It’ll muster friend and old acquaintance
The hour of victory to crown.
May there be tears of joy at meeting
And may embraces all be warm.
Let there be happiness and feasting
By every hearth, in every home!
May man and wife be reunited
With loving children at long last,
Let conversation be delightful
As poems of victory reciting
We sip the wine in our glasses,
And toast the year that is fast passing,
And toast the New Year that is approaching,
Round tables groaning with good cheer!