Journey to the dream two doors

against the criminal presidents
to slow down the fall-out clock,
l’orologio della pioggia radioattiva,
pentru a înceta liniutele ciasului
              de la pluoaia radioactiva

But I don’t hope longer. . .
mais je n’espère pas. . . .
(Hoy los americanos viven en el miedo, eso murmúra
el diario, lo ha eschuchado desde el viento del Norte.
Moi aussi, de ma fenêtre, j’attends l’attaque radiactif
qui remporte pour jamais tous les hommes
sous les petits ruisseaux des trottoirs. . .)

Alone I keep a long night vigil,
on the asphalt road long lines of shades,
                          to the two dream ways >

> in the Hades depths:

a steel building,
all the Authorities burning inside,
Prime Ministers Kings Generals & their disfigured faces,
cropped ears cropped noses. And (once hailing) crowds crawl
before the river (in vain!), just shades
                                                 hunting for themselves.

the weeping camp smells of hospital wards,
syrinxes phleboclysis crutches & amputation saws.
The woman-kamikaze: no arms; her mother, no legs,
                                                      killed in a refugee camp.

Elì Elì, lemà sabactani?

                                (comme en apparence de rêve nous traversons la porte d’ivoire)

> at the dream doors:   few guests in the Fourth House,
                on the stream only green leaves, pebbles & nests
                                                    on the water-lilies.
                      a twinkling morning star


non ci sono

non sunt

il n’existe pas
de guerres

koi bi lharai
nhi   he


                                                              finished. Go