by Guido Monte
© 2010 Vita Fabbro, "blended" by Guido Monte
(Swans - November 29, 2010)
the ritual of the rules goes on
in the yellow land of the prison
(we are slaves in following rules,
slaves in trampling on them),
we are soldiers playing with weapons
within the chessboard, the sky is listening
to the trumpets, without realizing
whether we're muñecos, o estatuas
llenas de desesperación.
the slaves of rules are inside too,
for them only laws and rules exist...
even for them a human time goes by, like a nonsense,
un tiempo humano sin sentido,
a little bell ringing every half an hour,
voices and empty recalls.
but everything will be wiped out by the clockwork,
first immobile, then in great haste until the end,
but i haven't realized it yet.
yes, i look through the peephole the wasteland plain,
and it's a nonsense, but there you can see
the slow stain moving... just reeds in the mist?
in the end you can hear just a rifle stroke,
a dead soldier, dead for nothing,
just to satisfy bureaucratic rules.
but i keep on, waiting the great event
that will redeem my existence.
white, es el blanco el color immobil que guarda los cuerpos,
in winter, white is the colour of the streams in spring
which creaks in the wood of the fortress, and the wardrobe
which weeps for joy with resin tears, in vain.
and the sky i see through an opaque glass,
keeps on shining for everyone,
even for distant inhabitants
of unknown lands that i don't know,
los habitantes lejanos de tierras desconocidas
que no conozco, de paginas que nunca gastaré of pages i'll never read...
Translated into English by Giulia Greco and into Spanish by Olga Milazzo. The author thanks Giusy Chirco.
Picture: blending me (2010), photo by Vita Fabbro, "blended" by Guido Monte (with Chagall, and Borges's words); Guido contemplates a little cat at the archaeological park of Monte Jato (Sicily).
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