What should a man do? SometimesI feel and think like a woman, what's a man anyway? God..? Silence...
Our happiness never will be complete, because we know we'll die; this shadow always will darken our mind.
Is the life worthwhile?
How something so sacred as the life is can escape from our fingers? There's an afterlife? And if there's not: what does remain? (Sun chastises the sidewalk; idiot's smile).
Our feelings, so immense, of love and that sensation so similar to the sublime eternity, the best of us; all our wishes, dreams, love for the beauty, amazement for the art, innocent kindness: where all this goes?
Our noblest attitudes, our respect and tolerance each other, the alms we give to the dawn; that unlimited tenderness that resembles the interminable blue space, even our lust: where all this goes?
Our electricity, energy and life's strongest ties; ourselves as individuals, and in loving connection with the others: is this condemned to be erased at once along with the dead flesh? The mankind is a stupid vacuum cleaner.
And our unselfish commitment? Where it goes, sky of mine?
When we die.
§
I'm an opaque man, and my own greed is becoming every day more feeble and diffuse; but the life out there: ain't grotesque? (the mankind is an old woman's ass soup).
I hear a distant music, festive music of happiness: aren't they absolutely deaf and stupid?
Oceans of doubt suffocate me and whisper in my ears: "is not the quest for happiness a ridiculous rat race?"
I gathered all my pity in a fist, and I just got dirty crumbs of uncertainty. Should I wish or desire anything? Did I want to live, did I ask it?
I start to feel the -everyday stronger- suspicion that everything is meaningless. A suspicion too similar to the certainty.
So I could end these cheerful lines with some poetical attempt of exorcism ("sideral emptiness", "Eyes of my honey", "I'm tired of asking").
...But the death, the life and the nonsensical idiocy don't accept any exorcism.
