Requiem for my grandfather
I have never met my grandfather, but I know that we are one.
A flock of birds, no, pack of vulturesDescends on my still breathing corpseI'll let them have their bloody dinnerThe other alternative is much worse
The birds of mercy, please, stop that painWith your sharp beaks, cut the jugular veinMy blood will pour and will mix with earthTo bear something newer and nourish its growth
Devour the flesh, but bones shall remainintact. They will wait for redeeming rainThat will sooth and relax my aching skullIn its magical weathering ritual.
Spring will come and fresh green grassWill become a soldier’s brand new dressSummer flowers slyly will poke their headsThrough the spaces between my shoulder blades
I will still be able to see all aroundWhile I slowly sink into the groundI can see my grave covered with snowWhen I tightly hug mother Earth below
I am sleeping now, like in my mother’s wombI forgot completely, I was killed by a bombIt happened on summer of nineteen forty oneForgive me my God, please, take care of my son!