Insomnia

INSOMNIA

Sometimes it happens that
there are nights like these,
non-nights,
made of open wide eyes
hanging from the ceiling
of counted hours turning into
minutes, seconds
bottomless chasms
-
Whose is the shiver of wings
that scratches like a blade the darkness of the sky?
Whose is the wild howling
tearing the silence apart?
Whose is the footsteps
nervously proceeding
cursing the whole life at each stride?
-
What is this gaze that
I feel in the dark?
The judgment
of the whole world
the silence of the just
a desperate cry wetting the asphalt
-
And where are you?
Perhaps you’re asleep, with eyes sealed
like a good bourgeois,
safe beneath white covers
while everything outside burns.
-
Then
Leave it to us the night,
leave it to us who stay awake
and you may keep sleeping your placid dreams
-
For the night belongs to beasts, to the ferocious,
to cowards, to whores,
to thieves, to monsters, to those who bite life
and cling to it with all their might.

To those who fight in blood and mud.