I heard a short poem,
long ago,
half dreaming,
in class,
it went something like:
“If you didn't prepare
with sport, your arms as stone,
Oh crystalline hands and limbs,
for the stone brace thyself!”
It made an impression
for the warning, I thought,
was for me,
drifting in my cloud
lost in art, empathy and wine
far away from the angry god.
Forty years have gone by,
the strong still rule the land
and now, with melancholy
I hear wisdom's nod.
We, all of us,
are not worthy.
Let the kingdom belong
to the ones who want it most.
Let us say our goodbye
dressed in our clothes of folklore.
Let us pack our heavy bags
and leave this beautiful World,
bare once more.
