Futility

We suddenly felt the flesh that carried our pain and

our dreams were foreign to us since He had died: our God

and inappropriate it was not to consider

the undertaker’s tears. We had none, God was too old

we thought and finally, we understood the angel

who advised us to show compassion, who advocated

morality had also died, and we had to rely on the birds

to recommence our sentimental love and understand

our neighbor who started his day brandishing a pistol

in his hand, his eyes fixated on us as though saying

you better not… a sentence that contradicted the meaning

of our Sunday dinner and in vain we insisted on lighting

our oil lamps.

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