Ethnos - Brescia

he East.

I am a round house

that never sees

the same landscape,

running from the dawn,

hurrying on towards nightfall.

The watchman keeps guard,

and the silent peacock is stilled

thoughfully reflecting

oriental swathes of stars.

For whom did you reflect

the drama and the solitude,

o, empty mirror of freedom?

And silence is

the floating of the silken wheel,

and billowing sighs fall

amid a thousand gentle moons

steeped in steel

and tinkling softly

in an impossible carousel

of coloured tin.