A Beating of Wings

We pretend we have our life,

even our world’s life, always under control,

from past generations to present days.

Sometimes we feel close to that certainty,

and it is good that this should happen,

giving us some encouragement on walking.

We work with the mind and the heart,

science and desire, on outlining the future,

which we desire and anticipate promising and happy.

Turning around the street corners, we find ourselves

with new, unforeseen and frightening facts,

perhaps echoes of ancient Greek dramas and tragedies,

worshiped by people of an era that has been lost,

civilizations poor of hope on the human rebirth.

Wars, revolutions, tyrannies and persecutions,

born on the drumming of soulless men,

has delayed our arrival in the promised land,

where milk and honey spur and light reigns,

frightening and preventing the evil that was once sown.

We have not come to this day yet, but are already listening

the beating of the wings of the dove’s return, like that of Noah,

bringing in the beak the green branch of the olive tree.


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