You are still the one with the stone and the sling, <br />Man of my time. You were in the cockpit, <br />With the malevolent wings, the meridians of death, <br />-I have seen you - in the chariot of fire, at the gallows, <br />At the wheels of torture. I have seen you: it was you, <br />With your exact science set on extermination, <br />Without love, without Christ. You have killed again, <br />As always, as your fathers killed, <br />as the animals killed that saw you for the first time. <br />And this blood smells as on the day <br />When one brother told the other brother: <br />'Let us go into the fields.' And that echo, chill, tenacious, <br />Has reached down to you, within your day. <br />Forgot, O sons, the clouds of blood <br />Risen from the earth, forget your fathers: <br />Their tombs sink down in ashes, <br />Black birds, the wind, cover their heart.<br /><br />Salvatore Quasimodo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/uomo-del-mio-tempo/
