In any age there is a military commander
Whose head sits on a short neck;
With the chest that starts under the chin,
And the nape of the neck right on the spine.

It is simpler for a head to sit snugly
On such a short and inconspicuous neck,
And to choke it is significantly harder,
As the rope has nowhere to go.

And yet they crane their necks,
And still they stand on tiptoe:
For to see farther and better
One must look over other heads.

There, now you are a dark horse,
Even if you have glimpsed the light from afar,
Your stance is unsteady and wobbly,
And the neck is open to the noose.

And any despicable scoundrel
Can count the vertebra on it.
One sees more, but it is improvident
To live among people with an exposed neck.

And yet they crane their necks,
And still they stand on tiptoe:
For to see farther and better
One must look over other heads.

Proudly raise your head, like a gander,
And for the slaughter you are ready,
Whereas a genuine commander
On his two feet stands quite steady.

In Asia they are trained to ambush,
The demi-god would not allow
Anyone creeping up behind him
To knock him off his feet with a single blow.

And yet they crane their necks,
And still they stand on tiptoe:
For to see farther and better
One must look over other heads.

If the nerves relax, even a little,
If you are ever off your guard,
A wicked trip will lay you flat,
A hand will close around your neck.

One can pull one’s head in sadly
Between one’s shoulders - and risk nothing,
Only it’s most unattractive
To keep one’s head in this position.

And yet they crane their necks,
And still they stand on tiptoe:
For to see farther and better
One must look over other heads.

This is the Oriental fable
An old frontiersman once told me:
"Here, even their fairy tales are cruel."
I thought, as I kept measuring my neck.