the arrogance of pretending we are infinite

anguish for life, turbulent garden
 through brambles and thorns, infatuated I walk

and I go forward,
through narrow doors
I try to settle down the good I carry in my heat
somewhere,
but I cannot find a place of peace

and then I see you in the dining room all decorated for the day of feast
but you sit on the other side of the table waiting for the caress
of a good word

a word to drink and to eat
and you look at me from a distance, your eyes invoking my attention
but I do no know  how to talk anymore

I would like to say I love you
but I do not recall how

what a terrible pain I feel inside,
when I could not speak, I use to stay next to you
as a bee on a flower
and now that I'm big and strong
I no longer say words
for you

what a shame
what a pain
walking through these streets lost in our fragile and precarious forever
with the arrogance of pretending we are infinite

Marco Bo