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In the next years we will know for certain if that long haired man bearing a sign telling us "the end is nite" was just one more of those loonies or a prophet that was trying to warn us, and because he didn't wear pristine white silk enbroidered with pure gold we dismissed him as we have been dismissing the rumble of the Four Horsemen coming so near...so near...

Dedicated to that Champion for Justice that kindly called me his friend, the Master Poet Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben YEHU



From time to time we hear the sound of his steps
in the corridors build with marble words of poetry,
and the echoes keep going away like soft whispers
from the feet of a wise man that loath false absurdity
as the one seeking Justice for the displaced orphans
and that the same Justice take care of the guilty.

Andre's house, like Mount Olympus has many gods,
but his, don’t indulge in a bacchanal of hedonistic,
those gods represent all the common men enslaved
by a few that gratify themselves which eccentricity,
expecting the plebe to thank them for the crumbs
falling from a table that was set up with such heresy.

Andre's muses moan loud in all the rooms of his mind
their protest for man to man the unchecked cruelty,
killing writers, burning books, trying to erase truth
from a world suffering the most of all acute illiteracy,
that couldn’t read in the bleeding holes of the walls
words written with bullets in falsehood and hypocrisy.

From time to time we hear they steps on marble floors,
Andre, the muses and his gods in search of any reality
in a tower build with greed, going down the quick sands
created by sub humans with power and mediocrity,
while the slaves toil with sweat burning in their eyes
trying to save their world from the builder’s insanity.