Why so many candles, these faces above me?
No more harm shall ever meet my body.
Everyone is standing – while here alone I lie –
Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.
And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie –
Solemnly – Agelessly – Solitarily.
Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,
Though by now I know all comprehension is dead.
How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,
To be what I once was – that is all I crave.
Translated by Stefano Salsicciao
