All loves and all wars,

are the same loves and the same wars,
geographies change, bullets, kisses,
arrows, catapults, the bodice,
the knife, the arrow, the carriage,
the open mouth, the war tank, the hemlock,
the raincoat, the rain, the rusty helmet
the trench, the control tower, spring,
I said your name in the middle of Troy, you screamed with
your bloody mouth in Sumeria my nickname,
while a few centuries later you stuck
the dagger in the absurd saga of my days,
because you were dying for the Cisalpine Generals,
but that mask of dust
was my face and I was those generals who
fell dead at the gates of Sparta,
as you died in Normandy, in front
of the Great Wall, and your eyes and mine,
which are the eyes of Abel and Cain,
looked terrified at the fire in Oceania
While our children were dying, because
sooner or later everything is lost, and
war is identical to love, the syllables mutate but the wind boils just the same,
take my mouth, disarm me from the fire,
for we will be born once again
in the middle of the battlefield,
writing on our corpses
still excited the word love,
then the ashes and the Euphrates and the Tigris.