When this man too left
crouched like a monkey
in the indignity of death
and carried away to be eternized,
you resurfaced as usual
not because the bells of death
which had once put you to sleep
has now chimed life into your remains
but because with this man’s flesh too
I had once moulded the scar on your right elbow,
with this man’s hair too
I had once painted your pubescent moustache,
and from this man’s loins too
I had conjured up Zarathustras,
your sons and grandsons,
worthy of wars, horses and women.
