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 this blood smells like
the day when his brother told the other brother:
- Let's go to the camps - that echo and cold, tenacious,
has come down to you, within your day. Forget
, or children, the clouds of blood
ascents of the world, forget your fathers:
their graves lie in ashes, blacks
birds, wind, cover their heart.
Salvatore Quasimodo
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