What’s become of my brothers

What’s become of my brothers
that are far from this homeland?
On this august afternoon
they tangle in my strings.

What is the colour of their nights?
How is the waiting?
What do the streets look like
under foreign fogs?

I would like to go
but never to leave them,
I would like to see the face
of my brother in exile.

What’s become of my brothers?
Have they a roof, have they food?
I suffer with the mere memory.
Who can tell me where they are?

How much homesickness and sadness
they will gather in their souls?
Will there be time in this life
enough for them to find peace?