WE DRESS OURSELVES LIKE DEATH
Everybody is talking about the corpses under the bridge
About dead bodies in the rubble
About rotten bundles in the ravine
About naked scarecrows and children
Covered only by flies
About the murmur of death
Which without rules and without respite
Plays night and day
At disappearance and hiding places
We men and women young and old
dress ourselves like death:
We display it in our eyes
As the last word on life
We wear it on our feet
As if descending the catwalks of hell
So much destitution so many elegies
So much blood and so much mourning in the poem:
The flowers and the songs are only good
For the bridegrooms of death