SHAPES AND COLOURS FROM THE LAND OF GOD

Sometimes I stop to wonder

who'll die before,

whether the wind or the sun

the sea or the rain,

the fire of God...

My nerves, under pressure.

I keep silence while a new zoo

begins to move once again,

absent-minded, incoherent,

loose and ignorant, as is its custom.

Perhaps nobody has noticed me

but one day more is so hard to bear

and in the dark they still can perceive all

they might report every thing they saw.

But their lips shall stop

and their spit keeps on shining

along with the stars.

Streets now empty have lost their breath,

memories are far-off

and the few folk remained

don't mind about that,

as if a cloud would haze

the whole horizon.

Another dream, silently...

it's only another dream

When night falls, new funny faces are jumping out.

Many little eyes, like faint tongues of flame,

are getting closer

and in the magic of the night,

voices are whispering new words.

By now, their language seems to be lost in time,

but I still have a hazy memory of their own voice's sound.

Once I shyly tried to catch their faces

through the moon's melancholy beams;

those little creatures whom

have lost everything throughout time.

Last night they showed me a way I never noticed before.

It's a path hidden among the trees

parallel to the way I'm passing through every morn.

It looks nobody knows such a road.

Hence, as soon as they set off,

I realized that I would have finally

made myself acquainted with their secrets buried inside time.

The more I was getting far from the things I already knew

the more I was feeling my senses' warmth reborn,

and contamination clearly died down,

making room for a nearer and firmer pureness.

A disarming scenery

had been appearing now in front of my eyes,

filling my heart with tears and nostalgia.

That moment I started guessing

that even human beings might have born there,

but nobody either knows or remember what I'm talking about.

Anyway, since that night I know

looking for the land of God it makes no sense, by now

and down there, in this unreal town,

echoes of homesickness come back.

So, now, loneliness covers every face with crying,

but these lost heroes are lying down on their memories...

sometime are chained like only wonderful dreams can be.

Waves spit on my memories

and flies lick remains like salt on a cliff

swallowing desolation's wan stains

and skies without any prayin'.

You have generated just this:

eyes which float on cages and black tones,

settlin' on to paltry customs

while humans are going to dance.

Now you're just the king of the silly ones...

crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.

Now you're just the king of the losers

and your sceptre gives in without a lament.

Frenzied worker ants all lined up

bow in front of ghosts and gods,

heavily made-up Golems

smiling from rotating chariots.

But a shadow come in

breaking through the wall of truth

while that fire is eating its flesh

passing through roads and nerves.

Now you're just the king of the foolish ones...

crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.

Well, you're just the king of the wretched

and your sceptrer gives in without a lament.

Now, unarmed

you let the cold evening

passing through yourself.

I don't want to let you alone

while your fear goes up the light.

I'll succeed in feeling

your new sweet caresses,

now cold and sofr as pure snow.

I'll succeed in listening to your breaths

without any pulsing heartbeats any longer.

But despair is keeping me here,

denying me any escape.

Dwon there, among the paper houses,

there's a prophet laying human sacrifices.

I'll manage to perceive your smiles with no regrets,

re-flowering like roses in May.

I'll succeed in feeling your words

words coming down like September dewdrops.

As for myself there's no surprise,

just the wish not to see any more

with these eyes which uselessly tried

to adapt themselves.

I will be staring after you, always, every day.

My tears are for you

and for those whom were able

to die without forgetting.

Every word of us

is close to become just a memory.

Once,

when the dusk of Lucy Pharr came,

celebration time opened for the Oroputs.

Now, in their hearts,

there are no pulsing beats any longer,

but only the memory of a distand land

lost in time.

When they will understand

that their searching served no purpose,

then they will smile like death do,

before carrying away the last scraps

of all what has been.

Where I come from nobody knows

And where I am going everything goes

The wind blows, the sea floats

Nobody knows

and where I am going nobody knows.

Even those last illusions

are falling like exhausted bricks.

The image of your hair is making for bore

while worry is fading away.

Here comes a storm

sweeping away this last deep night.

Sexes still move,

bodies still move

to reconstruct all what has been.

My life is like a child's

feeling in advance when death comes to him.

I feel time is just running out

and a raindrop falls on my thoughts.

Stars enjoy flying away

but they don't know

later they'll get forever dead.

The deathbed was bending towards him,

mocking and not moved to pity at all

for what he was feeling inside.

And his mother rocked him,

taking him to his new hell.

I was counting the passing ones...

I had already seen as many

as one couldn't believe.

While looking at the freezing scene,

I didn't feel tears fall down any longer

and my life was longing for flowers

and some careless lust for vengeance.

I never found the land of God,

or... may be...

I've been walking on it so many times,

wearily.

When the night falls,

the most beautiful son

is making for his own cross

and, on the cold asphalt,

he starts feeling his sorrow.