Under the roar of the pleiades
and the flickering of the waning moon,
I stumble upon chatty egos,
friendly shadows,
indifferent
to dead-end courtyards,
on walls,
silences,
silent looks.
I leave two bare-chested chrysanthemums
in the lapel of October
and I unlock it openly
the world's delirium.
What a racket, what evil...
Some children are picking up from the mud
shooting stars
and our murdered poems.
Whatever you say, it suits them.
a dignified burial.
In our neighborhood, by the way,
the old stepmother with the doors locked,
rehearses the snoring of death.
The child crawls at her feet,
waiting for a hot episode,
The masters say we are at war!
I leave the "dead" alone,
to await the “caravans of light”
and I escape
before the flag was lowered.
Surprised observers
They whine at the idea of history repeating itself!
For centuries now, unlearnable...
photo by Kincse_j, https://pixabay.com
