Some say Nature now reveals herself now conceals herself, an enchanting woman, treacherous, of marble stone, in the shape of a high mountain; and they remain insecure, seeing, in the Holy Author of the Sublime Book, the excellency of all from which arise many Evils. Neither does it seem - to reach the conclusion - that it be possible to die happily and peacefully consuming all the days in the condition of the Civil State of Nature. I know, someone may object, I should - since those who enjoy versifying speak aimlessly - try to soothe my restlessness with a few glasses of divine wine. But, I will not desist - since the Truth is necessary to Mankind - from being marveled, as I am not able to believe that God, or the Infinite Being, or Nature, which is the same can allow Evil for the sake of the Good. But, without further delay, what I will never be able to forget is how, changing, I became unhappy, deriving my unhappiness from the observation that it would be absurd if a white cat did not have a soul. I will start at once - in order to portray my feelings vividly - by saying that, if an evil man is evil in as much as his evil doings do not contrast with his evil principles, I am not completely evil, not having committed evil for its own sake. This is the countryside where I was brought up. I hanged it because I saw myself and I knew myself excluded. I longed for distant fires, but I could not and I remained alone in the great strife. I have no difficulty becoming pale. A burst of flames devoured the countryside. A white cat falling off the roof meowed. The whole Earth became a theater of devastation and horror. The plants drew shadows. It looked like they were carrying a corpse. The sentence was executed. Who gathered this flock of birds? Having fallen into a ditch, I howled like a dog, I was sorry I lost my liberty. It would be absurd if a white cat did not have a soul. I have no difficulty becoming pale. So, what had to happened, that from the rope left hanging, I contorted above the pavement of the scaffold, after that James Billington, as fast as a white cat, formed, placed, perfected, determined, fixed, exactly, the noose of the rope under the left ear of me the sentenced (something like that never happened to me in Ancient Greece), so that I hanging assumed shape order consistency stability copy variety importance prestige and singular fame not finding any difficulty to become pale. So what had to happened. This be said in digression. Coming back to the point, I say I will never forget how, changing, I became unhappy, deriving my unhappiness from the observation that it would be absurd if a white cat did not have a soul. I have no difficulty becoming pale.
Reason for writing:
This poem was written by a great friend of mine, Domenico Ferla, a librarian from Turin(Italy). I am only the humble translator. He is the author of a book of poems entitled La casa di Arimane (The House of Ahriman), Edizioni L'Erba Voglio, 1979.
Birth sign: Leo
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