Mesopotamia

You know that the older you get
the more distant memories surface
as if it were yesterday
I sometimes see myself in my mother's arms
and still hear my father's tender comments
the lunches, Sundays at my grandparents'
desires and irrational outbursts
first steps, joys and sorrows
The first white drop that scared
and strangely pleased
and a senseless infatuation
by natural law at that age
the first chords on a church organ in the sacristy
and a dogmatic respect
towards institutions
What will remain of me? Of earthly transit?
Of all the impressions I've had in this life?
I like radical choices
the conscious death that Socrates imposed on himself
and the mysterious and unique disappearance of Majorana
the cynical and interesting life of Landolfi
opposite yet close to a Burmese monk
or the celestial misanthropy in Benedetti Michelangeli
I too, upon closer inspection, have lived for millennia
and come straight from the highest civilization of the Sumerians
from the cuneiform art of the Scribes
and often sleep in a sleeping bag
because I don't want to lose contact with the earth
The valley between the two rivers of Mesopotamia
which saw at its banks Isacco of Nineveh
What will remain of us? Of earthly transit?
Of all the impressions we have in this life?