Here comes the Rider...

Here comes the Rider on his terrible steed,
Consuming space as if Chronos reaping it with his sickle,
Sowing his deadly seed inebriated with speed,
Matter of time extincting facts one by another --
Like Mother Nature, stamping with hammer all her beloved children so tired and sick,

-- This torture gave birth to the Art once upon a time
And to the Science -- trying to break the silence
Of Her conscience or whatever She's got instead of it --
Understanding for whom these bells jingle and chime
On that good old bobtail making our spirits brighter and higher.

What is our Culture after all but a try to escape the primordial Vulture --
This Vulva devouring evilly any thing living -- and still evolving feeling of guilt
In a mortal self-conscious being She so cunningly nurtured
-- Creature calling his grave Peace and Love,
In a temple forlorn built in an effort so desperate to evade the oblivion