That brief was the feast
and the fierce fervor of the wine into our blood, my friends?
That ephemeral the word that throbbed
defying the dark night?
Just this silence remains echoing
the inflamed anger, the mouths
burned down for injustices, the blood
poured claiming some light in wakefulness.
Where are the dreams, forged
at warmth of the sweet grape-juice?
Where the defiant trembling
of fists and chests?
One by one they left our table
at crack of dawn,
when the mist moistens
till the hottest vein of the land.
That's all, my friends.
Is that all?
Just a frail soliloquy
at the end of a dark and black night?
