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I hear the voice of a prophet that sings: Let the big drought begin across a large area of the earth. Yes, to exploit the big famine. But let storm and rain, in nature-weeping, alienate the other half of the earth, of all her riches. I hear Elijah’s voice displacing the atmosphere. Yes, while the temperatures rise to unprecedented heights.

I see the sun glimmering strangely, luminously. And I know it is too late for man to reconsider. I hear a witness calling: The judgment is standing on its first leg. Therefore let it rain hail and sulphur on the earth. I see a strange volcano and I know, this is the one. While glass-dust fossilize in man’s lungs.

Look, heaven’s sluices are locked across a large area. From the widow’s jar there is no mercy for the worldling. With no greenery for the stomach, the poor livestock begin to drown in dry dust. In the heat of the sun, the smell of death is everywhere. From the inflated carcass-stomach, the mowers begin to crawl out as blowflies.

So famine crawled closer, slowly but purposefully. The shop-shelves were empty, with nothing on it to consume. With the dams cork-dry with cracked clods. The fisherman’s boat lies stranded on dry land. The masses wanted to strike and commit mutiny, but there was nothing left to loot. For a piece of dry rusk, a prostitute wanted to unlock her lap for a client. But look, he took her last crumb from her, as his loot.

A mother wanted to trade her child for bread. But nobody wanted to go into contract with her. For something to eat, man even longed for weed. But outside there were only stones and clods. Heaven’s sluices were locked across a large area. Everyone came sneaking closer, begging. But from the widow’s jar, no mercy dripped out.