Grafenauer Niko:

Winds bloat on the branches like a long restrained urge.

Silently you sink into the shadow-streaked forest

where winter petrifies the birds tearing themselves to pieces

for their bleary significance, your spirit circles like a baby monkey.

It is growing dark, the gallows stand like an empty door in your mind,

its shadow falls in your way. Tiredness looms behind your back;

if you glance across your shoulder, evil phantoms arise;

the waste country before you greens with spreading mould.

Translated by Jože Lazar