what can i say about that man?
my being to him i owe
and as time passes on we grow...
together...separate...
alone yet joined...
he watches the television set
sitting on his bed erect...
and sometimes lying silent...
watching the world on flow
in colors...in colorless violence...
he has seen so many events...
the birth of a nation...times tensed...
cries of youth soaked in blood...
villages disappearing under water of a flood...
marks of barbed wires on shoulders blue...
heavy stomping he heard of leather shoes...
the fall of a man riddled by bullets...
he had read news of Mussolini's arrest...
seen he had how vultures dawned
upon the roofs of a blackened town...
one night he had felt how the earth shook bad
another morn he witnessed processions sad...
black badges on shirts...against deaths
by molotov cocktails purely handmade...
what can i say of this man?
growing crow's feet and wrinkled tan
over his face...so aged by sights
and sounds of numerous fights
and struggles of a whole generation...
and unending queues of teeming millions...
before shops which rationed food
and grocery supplies which were never good?
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