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Raudsoonestik hargneb ja elulätteks saab. Raudruun sünnitab küla ja kaotab vahemaad. Poetrepil istub vanataat. Üks tüdruk mööda tõttab. Noor ema rinnalapsega kusagile ruttab. Paar poissi asju ajavad paljajalu ojavees. Saeraami õuel mehed palgil, suitsud ees. Mis toimub kaugel ilmaveerel, ei huvita üks põrm. Ei aima veel, et rauda mööda hiilimas on surm. Elu tuiksoon juuniööl mürgiastlaks sai. Ent raud ei olnud määraja, kes viidi ja kes jäid. On kalmul ammu vanataat ja üles võetud relsid. Vaid ojapõhjas endiselt veenire tuhmilt helgib. ------------- Motheriron The matrix of iron veins branches out, becoming a spring of life. The iron gelding gives birth to a village and obliterates distances. On the steps of a shop, an old man sits. A girl hurries past. A young mother carrying a babe in arms hastens on her way somewhere. Barefoot in ditchwater, a couple of boys busy themselves. In the yard of the sawmill men sit on a girder, smoking. What happens in some far fringe of the world, no-one cares a dime about. No-one can foresee death creeping on the rails. On a June night the life-vein became a poison sting. Yet it was not for the iron to say who was to leave, who could stay. The old man is long in his grave, now, and the rails have been removed. Only a rivulet of water still dully gleams in the bottom of the ditch.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025

Metallil möirgab metall. Rebib ja rassib raudruun, külm, kalk kaasaegne Kalev. Teel tormab teras truu. Kes rahutult tukub, kes suitsetab, kes „paukpadrunisuppi“ helbib. Mõnigi neist homme langeb, mõni kallima ees hiljem kelgib. Istun ärkvel ja kirjutan sulle. On hämar, mul raskus on laugel. Kas mäletad, lubasid tookord truuks jääda mul, kui viibin kaugel? Rong võpatab, rappudes seiskub; murdub mu pliiatsil süsi. Rööpmed lõhkunud vaenlaseraisk. Kõlavad käsklused, sammude müdin. Pikali teetammil varitsen ründajaid. Mis on see tung, mis ajab meid tulle? Sihin ja lasen, kuid küsimus kerkib: on nad siis vaenlased mulle? See „täitornis“ sell seal on kellegi poeg, samamoodi kui mina. Instinkt võidab seesmise heitluse – võõrkeelse kisa lämmatab tina. --------------------- In the Eyes of the Rider On the Armoured Train (on the schoolboy-warriors of the Freedom War) Metal roars on metal. Moils and toils the iron horse, the cold, hardened modern Kalev. Faithful steel rushes on rails. Some drowse nervously. Some smoke. Some, bound for flatulence, eat the pea soup. Many will fall tomorrow. Some will brag to their sweethearts later. I'm staying up, writing to you. It is dark; my eyes are heavy. Do you remember your promise to stay true to me when I'm far away? The train flinches and joltingly stops. The pencil lead breaks. The damned enemy has broken the rails. Orders are heard, and bootbeats. Flat on the embankment I wait for attackers. What is this urge that drives us into fire? Sighting and shooting, I still find myself wondering – are they really enemies of mine? The guy over there, in the pointy uniform hat, is someone's son, very much like me. Instinct wins the inner combat. Lead silences foreign screams.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025

Noormees läks, sest kohustus kutsus, vormimaks aated tegudes truuduseks. „Oota mind, muidu ma langen!“ Tõotused, lahkumissuudlused. Kas ootusest väsis või unustas end või otsis vaid veidike lohutust – tantsupeol lasi end suudelda. See näis nõnda süütu ja ohutu. Kurblikult kiunatas lõõtspill ja tuled kustusid samas. Teadis neid, et kusagil kaugel ta peig, auk otsmikul, lamab. --------------------- To Kiss A Maid The young man left, for duty called, in order to mould the cause into loyalty with deeds. "Wait for me or I shall perish!" Solemn vows and kisses good-bye. Fatigue of the wait must have gotten to her, or she plain forgot, or was looking for some solace – she let herself be kissed at a dance. It seemed so innocent and harmless. The accordion uttered a sad wail and all the lights went out at once. The maiden knew that far away her groom fell, his forehead pierced.

Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 25, 2025

Tuli mu ümber, tuli mu sees. Tuletrompetid huikasid hukku. Mu muusika tabas kaht meest. Üks vaikides vajus, teine karjudes kukkus. Punkrihämaras „tattnina“ leek; lõppenud lahing, mis äsja veel kees. Mu naril oigab haavatud koolivend, vaenlase mundris vangi langenud mees. Äng rindu ei mahu, pressib end üles, silmisse pisaraiks ja kurku kisaks. Hääbuvad lahkuja viimased sõnad: „See teine seal väljal oli mu isa...“ --------------------- A Letter From the Trenches (on the fratricide war) Fire around me, fire within. Trumpets of fire hailed doom. My music befell two men. One silently sank; the other went down screaming. In the gloom of the bunker burns a crude petroleum lamp. The battle, freshly furious, has already ended. On my cot moans a wounded schoolmate, a man who fell prisoner in enemy uniform. The breast is too small for the angst that rises as tears in eyes, roar in throat. The words of the departing one fade: "The man outside was my father."

Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 25, 2025

Hääle tunnen ära – see on sinu suu, sõnad aga võõrad, tulvil surmatuult. Ei ole tamm sust tugevam, ta mürgi-iilis murdub. Lepp alandlikult kooldub, sest aated ammu surnud. Sa hinge andsid mulle ja olid mulle vend... Kuis muutusid küll selleks, kes müüa pakub end? Ei vannet antud sulle, et murraks selle sa. Kui taba oled, mille rooste lukustand. Ja ikkagi ka mina olen sinu perekond. Ei kahetse ma miskit. Vaid veidi kahju on. -------------------- No Regrets (on when the fatherland you'll never betray turns on you instead) I recognise the voice – the mouth is yours yet alien the words, full of the wind of death. No oak is stronger than you; it breaks in the venomous hurricane. The alder bows humbly, for long dead are the ideals. You gave me soul, were as a brother to me... How did you change into one who offers your very self for sale? You were not given the oath so that you could break it. You are to me as a padlock, rusted shut. And yet I am still your family. I have no regrets, just a little sadness.

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

Vee all on ruumi. Öö kui laev kannab mind. Unenäost haige hing. ------------------ Underwater Waltz There is room underwater. The night, like a boat carries me. A dream aches within the soul.

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025

Kes meeldida tahab, peab roomama, „jah“ üteldes „ei“ peab mõtlema, mis teine tahab, peab tegema, peab ahelaid kandma ja - tänama! Peab kandma lõpmata palju veel, peab tundma, kuidas tal murdub meel, peab kummardama kulla eel - peab nuttes naeratama veel. Ja kes ei taha, ei meelita ta, ei taha, ei taha, ei tahagi ta! Vaid külmalt elugi pakub ka - tal enesel katsutaks' meeldida! Ja jääb ta nüüdki veel muutmata, ta tõe-armastus puut'mata, üks peab nüüd kahest sündima: ta peab nüüd tõusma ehk langema! --------------------- In Front of the Mirror (Juhan Liiv) Who wants to be liked must crawl, must think "no" while saying "yes", must bide the will of others, wear shackles and render thanks, must bear so much more, feel their will break, must bow before gold and smile while weeping, too. And those who don't won't flatter, don't want to, they wont; and they won't, while coldly even life offers an option that they themselves be liked. And still they remain unchanged, and the love of truth remains pristine and one or the other must happen now - they must either stand or fall.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025

Raskel sammul kurb rongkäik – kaks venda kolmandat kannavad. Kahvatult säravad tähed rühkijaile au annavad. Viimane eine on külm – lumi ja veidike mulda. Mürsk sai piletiks sinna, kust tagasi enam ei tulda. Ristigurmaanile rauda ja puitu surma menüüs jätkub veelgi. Ühtede nimi saab kivisse löödud, teisi ei mäleta keegi. -------------------- Death Restaurant A sad procession walks with heavy steps – two brothers carrying the third. Pale brilliant stars salute the trudging ones. The last supper is a cold one – snow with a side of dirt. A projectile became a ticket to the land of no return. For the connoisseurs of the cross there is still enough iron and wood on the menu of death. The names of some shall be cast in stone, while others remain ever forgotten.

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025

Akendes tulesid näed – elud, mis võõrad, on neis. Seisatad, sirutad käe. Aitab see sind? Oh ei! Su enese akendest ammu on vajadus valguse söönd. Ei oota su tulekut keegi, ei küsi, kus oled sel ööl. Silmad maas, ei märka sa, üle kuis lendab must lind. Ta varju ei jäta ja kaob vist märkamata ka sind. Kusagil sulguvad laud. Sinagi uinuta end. Ise pead laulma end magama. Öö on su kaksikvend. -------------------- The Night Song Lights in the windows you see – and lives of strangers behind them. You stop and reach out your hand. Will that help you? No chance! From your own windows long ago the need has eaten the light. There is no-one to wait for you, to ask where you are this night. Eyes down, you won't notice the flight of the black bird overhead. Casting no shadow, it disappears, having probably not heeded you either. Somewhere, lids close. You too must force yourself to sleep, must sing the lullaby to yourself. The night is your twin brother.

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 25, 2025