Symphony of Kaleidoscopes





on a dizzy morning in june

my eyes were rubbed against the view

       of that piazza

you should see those kaleidoscopes

- even as a child of ten

i could never take my eyes off of them-

for the very first time, as if in a dream

       i saw the reality;

my beard grown out,

and my voice cracking,

and seeing

words could be tender

no matter what


i was thinking of those desks

those school desks dangling in my mind

       as like question marks

in those school days still capturing my mind

and to those dangerous questions

we used to raise our hands

under the shadow of the rotten stringers

so many unanswered questions has left

a couple thousands of us

trying to explain

the close range between innocence and rage:

rage is cruel without innocence

innocence is submission

       without rage, said a man

(on his eyebrows there was blood and sand)


on that morning

we had already burnt down the desks

our kaleidoscopes were in pieces


no rust left on the stringer

no lies in our words




the day was booming.

colosseum tumbling down

       for the very first time

the earth was seen as it was:

the surface split in two,

two different orchestras, earth in polyphony,

one telling us kurt huber’s dead

the other playing shostakovic, the 7th symphony!


On that very day

just like a dissident string

       breaking loose from a violin

the city broke loose

       from the earth.