Why do I stand silent even I have a mouth....

I stand under a tree of hungry hands

No

I stand under NONE

I go to isolation
an empty and absolute isolation

Traverse the desert miles after miles

And last city

I left behind me a long time

Go to great doubt

go to a doubt

vanishes by bigger doubt.

Why do I stand silent

even I have a mouth

Why do I stand idle

even I have feet

Why don’t I look

even I have eyes

Why don’t I scream and I am caught in this misery

because I am made of stone.

There is something I cannot reach it

I do not know what is

I stretch out to it

Air air… air!

What are you looking for in the sky?

I’m looking for an image of star which doesn’t exist.

With my two own eyes

on the other side

I should reach/access the darkness.

But who could to see the difference

between darkness and green?

I will be travelling to Aredo

and I will ornament my broken jars

with an image of goat’s red-horn

I will be travelling to Aredo

and marry the Goldsmith’s dead daughter

in the evening

sitting on the threshold of the door

I hear the neighbour’s smile

The newly hatched flies

Around the glare oil’s lamp

Yes, now

Suddenly, I see the Chestnuts tree

In the darkness, contemplating white flowers:

We are dust.

Tor Ulven (1953–1995)

 Uma elementar homenagem a todos os que morreram ontem e morrem todos os dias vítimas da perversa violência dos extremismos que odeiam o diferente, buscando, delirantemente, sempre e apenas o igual a si.