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The world has grown very old, Maria,
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The world has grown very old . . .
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But we are young.
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So how is it that nothing
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Can surprise us?
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Even the coldness of the Gothic church
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With dusty sun-rays on the altar,
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Even the Saviour eaten by wood-worm,
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Even the old man with the face of an inquisitor
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Who drops money in the box
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With the inscription:
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'Ecce Homo'.
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The world has grown very old, Maria,
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The world has grown very old.
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And we have already forgotten
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That we come from the same mother.
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Even our faces
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No longer bear any resemblance.
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Your skin is transparent and soft
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As if you were painted
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By Jan Vermeer.
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My unshaven face is burnt
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By southern winds . . .
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Now we are sitting in the old town square, Maria,
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Now we are sitting in the old town square.
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The sunset screaming there beyond the church,
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And we are listening to the horse-driven team-
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It is distorted by the crowds of tourists
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Pattering the pavement
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And sudden bursts of doves
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Rise up
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And we converse politely in a language
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Equally foreign to both of us.
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We speak about the insensibility of prices,
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About the cosmos
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And the desperate hysteria of terrorism . . .
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The world has grown very old, Maria,
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The world has grown very old,
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And has forgotten the meaning
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Of words:
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Words created us long ago.
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Now they destroy us.
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And we repeat our countless names
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With a narcotic passion.
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Our laughter
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Nuclear
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and free
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Resounds over the church, Maria,
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Resounds over the two black towers.
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And these two semi-solitudes
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Of ours
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Strive irresistibly
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Towards the critical mass of nuclear explosion . . .
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They can remember vaguely
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That in the jungle of their childhood
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They were never divided
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By borders, newspapers,
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By gold, by war
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Or peace . . .
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But here comes the night:
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It's crawling towards us with electronic tentacles
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And Fear spies on us everywhere . . .
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Let us stand together against the night, Maria,
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And let us be an explosion tonight!
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A universal explosion
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Above the nuclear storehouses
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Of solitude-
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Let the reviving fire burst into bloom
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Wiser and more red
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Than any banner.
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