A stone from the depths that has witnessed the seas
drying up
and a million white fish leaping in agony,
I, poor man, see a multitude of white-bellied
nations
without freedom. I see the crab feeding on their
flesh.

I have seen the fall of States and the perdition of
tribes,
the flight of kings and emperors, the power of
tyrants.
I can say now, in this hour,
that I—am, while everything expires,
that it is better to be a live dog than a dead lion,
as the Scripture says.

A poor man, sitting on a cold chair, pressing my
eyelids,
I sigh and think of a starry sky,
of non-Euclidean space, of amoebas and their
pseudopodia,
of tall mounds of termites.

When walking, I am asleep, when sleeping, I
dream reality,
pursued and covered with sweat, I run.
on city squares lifted up by...