Other names

Now, suddenly, other names

whisper in my mind, murmur,

as the water of a river nobody certainly knows,

the portrait of the same shadowiness

now

this night,

the same night I once saw from home,

new words name the unreachable

diminutive flowers of fire

who tremblingly blossom in the highs

I slowly, fearfully pronounce it

and I can not stop feeling

the fragileness of everything I know

the fragileness of the signs my mother once lovely taught me

we have lost

we have forgotten the meaning of the first fire

and now the glyphs of our ancestors

are vanishing in their own muteness

everything happen repeatedly

everything will happen until the end of the time

said the poet

and something like a tiny, slow dust also begun covering his words

at the end nothing will remain

nor a single word

nor a stone over stone

but I am trying to talk about this night of sadness

only

and now I can say that as the bright moon cross the nocturnal highs,

below her,

the hidden seeds and the buried bones of my grandparents

continue indolently sleeping under the earth

without being disturbed

for this kind of inoffensive thoughts

I know

this is the sad night I once saw from home,

but now I can smell another peel over the surface of everything

and I am aware of the unmovable

deeply nature of things

who is beating from its very inside

I am the foreign one

I said

and all my words,

just a full fit of dust and symbols,

are silenced in the wind