The look desolate and the breath extinguished
like a candle flame
in the darkness of hate
An image
that haunted the world
And the voice coming out
from the abyss agony
"I can not… I… can't breathe"
face pressed on the asphalt
he was fading...
everybody saw, a soul pressed on the asphalt
he was fading
from an uninhabited world
from a desolate planet
that was abolishing Man
And the sky indifferent to the drama of History
to the drama of begging
that played there
defenseless
in front of frightened eyes
the eternal drama was played
And a line of white doves
they went up and up
fragments of peace - or
an awakening of consciousness
A line of white doves
the shape of the inanimate body
upon the dirty road
with flows of other moments of the past from the same
death rattle, there
in the arena of our civilized time
Man!
A desolate Soul remained
to walk at night to wander
barefoot
to collect the stars upon the tomb
to remake the Unjust into Right.
Written for the anthology of "dekata" magazine
titled "I can't breathe"