Indesinenter

We knew
of a single lord
and we saw how
he became
a dog.
Enfeebled by the belly,
by the caress on the belly,
by fear,
he crouched under the whip
drunk with forgetfulness
of the reason
he holds.
Torn, eaten
by plagues,
without stopping he licked
the rough hand
that has held him
down in the mud
for so long.
It would have been
simple to make
of his silence a wall
impenetrable, towering:
he chose
the great gentle shame
of the yelps.
We have never been able,
though, to despair
of the old defeated
and we raise in the night
a song of shouts,
for the words overflow
with meaning.
The water, the earth,
the air, the fire
are his,
if he dares at once
to be who he is.
He must say
enough right away,
that he now wants
to walk anew,
standing, without rest,
forevermore
man saved in the village,
against the wind.
Saved in the village,
already the master of all,
not a mere mutt,
but the only lord.