With stones in
their hands, they defy the world
and come to us like good tidings.
They burst with anger and love, and they fall
while we remain a herd of polar bears: a body armored against weather.
Like mussels we sit in cafes,
one hunts for a business venture
one for another billion and a fourth wife, breasts polished by civilization.
one seeks revenge in nightclubs
one plots for a throne, a private army, and princedom.
Ah, generation of betrayal, of surrogate and indecent men,
generations of leftovers, we'll be swept away
never mind the slow pace of history
by the children bearing rocks.