If...

... If I was lost in the sands of anyone’s hidden desert,
and the Genius of the Lamp had given me only a sole desire,
I not ask for the obvious discovery
for the cure of all diseases, damnations and afflictions
or for the comfortable happiness for the remaining of my days.
Or - responsibility that exceeds my shoulders -, the happiness and fortune of all my fellow creatures for the rest of their lives.

I ask - yes - for the possibility to reincarnate
eternally and successively in each person
that composes mankind and the spirals of its history.

I crossed, like Marco Polo,
the boundaries between old Europe and the unknown East.

Like Cleopatra, I had, at my feet, at the borders of the Nile River, exhausted lovers and submissive slaves.

Terrified, I was swallowed by the torrent and flames of Pompeii’s fire. I read - or better - I wrote, in impenetrable languages papyrus and books of the lost Alexandria’s library.

I joined the squadron and, like Colombo, traced a new route and discovered the New Land, America.

I created the ingenious inventions of Leonardo da Vinci and smiled, with an enigma on my lips, like Mona Lisa.

Like The Bog Man, I was laid, for centuries,
in the darkness of water of some lost swamp
after the last battle against my enemies.

Like Gengis Khan I conquered lands,
I decided the destiny and fortune of thousands
and beheaded many others by a simple sign of my sword

or of that of any of my brave warriors.

Like Van Gogh I was painting, with an indescribable yellow, "The Sunflowers" and, after, unrestrained cut off my ear.



Sometimes man, sometimes woman,
I crossed every carnal pleasure passing through the sad hotel rooms of the nihilist dissoluteness of Henry Miller and Anais Nin. I was in ecstasy with the fullness
of the mystic communion with God of Saint Francis of Assis.

Tanctric or ascetic - it is not important whether - like an older yogamaster, I sank inside a cosmic meditation to transcend the ice and stone of the Himalayan Mountains crest.

Like Nijinski, I jumped incomprehensible leaps
on the stages of an astonished Europe.


I was a black man beaten to death by members of Ku Ku Klux Klan and was launched in the Mississipi River. And, years later, I shouted - to thousands of people, in front of The Capitol, “I have a dream!”.

I was inside of Lee Oswald's mind to learn whether he had shot the gun in Dallas and, if he had, whether he had accomplices or not.

Almost deaf, I composed the Nine Symphonies of Beethoven.
Bitter. Like each of the Fab Four, I composed the front line
of the revolution of music, hair and culture of the sixties.

With glamour, I walked the runway like Gisele Bundchen - maximum aim of all spots - and I bent like Marylin Monroe and dived in her last night with barbiturics.

I felt the desolation of the countrywoman from Bosnia with her decimated family.

I was one of the passengers – desperate – on the last night of the Titanic heading to the depth of the North Atlantic Ocean.

I was one of the passengers - desperate - in the crash against the Twin Towers in New York City.

I was unveiled the structure of the far away universe and the minute atom, and, like Albert Einstein, I wrote the theory of relativity.

Like Neil Armstrong, I was feeling the dust of the Moon with the first footprint of a human being or like Yuri Gagarin, I exclaimed "The Earth is blue".

So I roamed, tireless, all meanders - Heaven, Hell and Purgatory - of every one that let their - simple or outstanding -traces of their footprints on the face of the third planet
around the lost yellow star near the borders of the Milk Way.