sitting in the most rarefied corner, the one near the window
of the rescued, you look at their slow walking
waiting for their turn,
as still faded images that little by little in the dark room to the world they came to life
and you hear whispers and shouts
and lamentations
the silent ones the most agonizing
and before your meeting with the doctor
you suddenly find yourself no longer remembering what sickness, in that cold morning of a dull Autumn
brought you there waiting
by that exact moment, at the beginning of the sixth mass extinction,
in the age of the comfortable things made to be immediately forgotten,you realize the reason of being
of all those silent and compassionate waiting rooms
that you have known by the forgotten peripheries of the world
then shaking like a dog with the hair straight on its back
should that be the true and only moment of your entire life,
stronger you try to smell and listen
whispers shouts and lamentations,
the silent ones
the most agonizing
of the rescued, you look at their slow walking
waiting for their turn,
as still faded images that little by little in the dark room to the world they came to life
and you hear whispers and shouts
and lamentations
the silent ones the most agonizing
and before your meeting with the doctor
you suddenly find yourself no longer remembering what sickness, in that cold morning of a dull Autumn
brought you there waiting
by that exact moment, at the beginning of the sixth mass extinction,
in the age of the comfortable things made to be immediately forgotten,you realize the reason of being
of all those silent and compassionate waiting rooms
that you have known by the forgotten peripheries of the world
then shaking like a dog with the hair straight on its back
should that be the true and only moment of your entire life,
stronger you try to smell and listen
whispers shouts and lamentations,
the silent ones
the most agonizing
Marco Bo