« The painful secret of gods and kings is that men are free. » J.P. Sartre – The Flies
…only as mad could I have showed
in the first line of the battle field or
on the toil some lunches
where only angel-conceived ideas
I’m rummaging through the day’s thinness,
playing into knick-knacks
with dice lost by gods.
Everyone’s secret, the same, that we are naked,
the rest is still to be invented.
A high rope walker on the ground – just once afraid,
enough to be always afraid.
That’s how we lose the sense of our neighbour and
we drown into solemnities.
I’m talking, and in this ultimate freedom in
which each memory resigns,
I keep talking lest I should hear the secrets,
my heart in mourning because of prejudices,
competent into abuse.
What’s happening these days
on one chrystal night –
all around everything is
frail and intolerable,
and folly is famous …