Pontius Pilate
A white cloak with a blood-stained lining,
A face exhausted by pain.
He was worthy of another fate,
But not death in that world of sands.
Judea, a province of Rome –
This is worse than death, this is hell.
An empty life passes by,
And one cannot look back.
The Procurator stands on the balcony,
Fixing his suffering gaze into the distance.
But in diamonds, in a golden crown,
He hears a silent reproach.
"Gods, poison! I beg you, poison!
I am ready to give everything for him.
Gods, gods, please, no more
Suffering again in this city"…
At night, weary of the bustle,
Mourning in the boundless silence.
And words come from a dream:
"You are free! He awaits you so."