"I close my eyes and I can see it. The cortege leaves the shadow out proclaiming itself with sullen dins.
The vigilant vulture reveals the path with its purple air torch.
The slaves haul the narrow carts.
White-painting guards watch the distance over riding their black dromedaries.
They are getting near step by step.
In the middle the litter comes carrying the blind old man.
Backwards, the undressed maidens are walking -tied at collar- and singing praise canticles.
The buffoons, the musicians and the wolves complete the caravan."
The echoes of their revelry are resounding inside of my cranium.
The musicians play their trompets.
The buffoons laugh and cut capers.
The women dance with frenzy around the bonfires."
The drunk guards fall asleep but their dromedaries whip the slaves who are breaking into shatters my ramparts with their pikes and digging up the screams of my goblins.
The wolves devour to themselves.
"They enter by my right eye and they make themselves comfortable like at home.
"The vulture's torch profanes my dark past.
The blind old man get ready to take the control of my dreams..."