MEN BEHIND THE MACHINES
The door stands latched intact
Yet the unseen street lamp’s lacteal glow
Infiltrates through the slit.
A discarded newspaper bag
disturbs the dumb tar road.
Raising my eyes towards the sky
I tell myself:
You are unconcerned with the distance
When the chimes of the church bell
Roll in the lap of darkness
Your eyes of surprise
Focused for Milan’s frescoes
Remain shutters closed.
strange and anonymous
tickling the ears
with shrill needles of sound
when the neutron bomb wipes the homosapiens
it is impossible for
a protozoa to offer
regenesis to man.
The mane of the lion
Marx’s reckonings of daily bread-
all have met their destiny here
like scattered sperms on the mud.
Your ignorance will have
more catalogues tagged to it.
In whatever manner time is measured
beyond the skeletons of concrete hills
and across the neon signs
our speech shall remain
away from the invading computers-
an articulation of flesh and blood.
Translated by the poet.