Prophecy

Upon this land

purple will pour.

Will it be a young wine?

Will it be blood, still warm,

still oozing

out of nought into nought?

Will it be the faith, pulsating?

Slyly the oracle here remains silent.

Oh, says the seer,

God only, the only one,

dusky red God

in everything.

© translated by Tina Mahkota

Prerokba

Na to deželo, sèm,

se bo izlil škrlat.

Bo to mlado vino?

Bo še topla kri,

ki kar mezi

iz niča v nič?

Bo utripajoča vera?

Orakelj tu prekanjeno molči.

O, reče videc,

Bog sam, edini,

mračnordeči Bog

v vsem.

© Gorazd Kocijančič, Primož Trubar is leaving Ljubljana (Študentska založba, 2012)