I’ve warned you of the bloodbath:
a bath, with your blood in it, literally.
But there you go, blundering right in,
no hand of fate can stop you,
the hand that wants you dead.
And I, who will be killed soon after you,
why should I care—when, or whose hand?
So don’t stall—go on, go in,
step blindly into your matron’s trap,
hero of the great war, great murderer yourself.
Before I die, I’ll see you flounder,
like a fat carp, in the fishnet of your queen.
But what is this water in my eyes?
My eyes that have seen my brothers killed,
my city razed, before and after.
Nobody weeps for you, therefore I will,
I, Cassandra.
Translated by the author