The poem is a short pair of questions about destruction and who has the right to carry it out. In the first couplet, the speaker watches or imagines the burning of an "otherland," a place that feels foreign or different, and asks whether "we" are really on the side of light. The word "light" sounds good, but here it sits right next to fire and conquest, so the question carries a chill.
The second couplet gets stranger. "The man with all ink" suggests someone who controls writing, records, or law, a person with the power to define things. The speaker wonders whether he is right to let "witches become a sun," meaning people condemned as witches are burned until they turn into a source of light. The image is dark and ironic: violence is dressed up as illumination.
The speaker sounds uneasy and unconvinced, not angry. Nothing is answered, and the questions hang there. The mood is quiet, eerie, and troubled, a moral doubt told in very few words.