Two friends

by Marcello Comitini

At the feet of my coffin
a day not far away
between the tears of the mourners, and the accomplices silences
you will tell the truth to my face
as a silent rabbi
to my Buddha hands
with his harsh moral sentences.
You will freely say life is what I live
not the bitter jam
with which you smeared the feelings
nor the memories you waved in tatters
on the pole of your memory
soft like a rush
in the misty swamp of your nights.
The love of life is mine, not yours
stuffed with words
like the schoolboy’s snack
aged on books yellowed by pain.
My real companions are
loneliness and exile in the past
sad friends who talk to me on nights
of nightmares and dreams never lost.
What do you think now that in the dark you have no more words?

I won’t be able to answer,
Buddha’s hands crossed on his chest
they stopped my heart.

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