On the very same chain, firmly joined by hands and neck, there were two convicts, a strong one and a weak one. The weak one thought about slavery and was gloomy, and the strong one thought about freedom and was cheerful. Several times, the strong one wanted, by one strain, to break irons and run away, but that was choking, bleeding, killing the weak one.
One night, the strong one was keeping vigil. He was thinking about his hills, where, before long, he walked, powerful and fierce like nature; where wild boars were afraid of him; where he went to eagles' nests, and, with bloody hands, choked old ones and stole young ones; and from where he tore down stones, aiming to hear their death in abysses; and where he lived powerful, unbridled and noisy, like waterfall.
The night was dark and guard fell asleep. Irresistible illusion of freedom filled up his cruel spirit. Irons strained and broke. He rushed over his drowned companion, over guard, through meadows with black grass, in the river with black water, to which he threw himself like young, passionate beast; and reached the free shore. In back of his hills, has risen the large, bloody, midnight moon.
Nature has welcome him with smile, with joy, with spread arms, with blessing. Because nature doesn't know about justice, but of force.
Jovan Dučić
Poetry in Prose - "Blue Legends"
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