Summer sunday: on my terrace
i listen to the frenetic
radio commentary of the national team's
football match: what an immense amount
of wasted energies, only to drive
a leather ball into a net!
i cut the ombilical cord
that still binds me to the world,
and I lie down on my deskchair,
to admire the flights of the seagulls,
and hear the choruses of their cries,
carried by the scented orchestra
of the wind which blows from the sea,
and I thank the Heaven, which allowed me
to slam the door in the face of the world.