Man of my time
're still one of the stone and the sling,
man of my time. Were in the cockpit,
with wings malignant, the meridians of death,
I saw you - in the chariot of fire, the gallows,
the wheels of torture. I have seen: it was you, with your exact science
extermination,
without love, without Christ. You have killed again,
as always, as your fathers killed, as
killed the animals that we saw for the first time.
And it smells like blood on the day
When the brother told the other brother
"Let's go to the fields." And that echo the Cold tenacious
has come down to you, within your day. Forget
, or children, the clouds of blood
Climb out of the earth, the forgotten fathers
their graves lie in ashes, blacks
birds, wind, cover their heart.
Salvatore Quasimodo.
Happy April 25th everyone.
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