A Poet is Dead.

A dead poet
doesn’t write anymore.
Doesn’t it? I asked.
A dead poet doesn’t write anymore. No.

But some days ago,
he was alive,
and he wasn’t writing anyway.

Yes, but he’s currently dead.
Very dead.
And he doesn’t write anymore.  I’m afraid: no. 

Some people have told me that they saw him during a party,
he was drinking a Scotch.
But a dead poet,
is a poet who already died.

A year ago, there was this rumour,
that his editor mistreated him.
And, apart from that, his mother, his own mother,
she didn’t even buy the last edition of his poetry book,
and she did a joke that no one understood about how unpopular poetry is.

However, a dead poet:
doesn’t write
anymore.
No.

History is nothing else than the same story.
And a dead poet doesn’t write anymore. No.

I’ve seen dead people dancing,
stealing,
singing,
but the poet wasn’t there writing
this time,
no.

And among all deaths,
his death was the most expected death of all of them,
but nonetheless,
he didn’t write anymore. No.

And many words were born
from his body;
words that the entire neighbourhood used at some point,
but no one ever wrote.
And writing words in a paper
it’s a way to kill them:
to put them in a slow-grave,
in a time that eventually will be gone.

But now that the poet is dead,
after the burial,
there is a life crying between lines,
there is a poem crying between words,
as a blind dog near his mother.

How dare you to ask me who is the poet that has passed away?
A poet is dead.
Every day a poet is dead.
poets…

And they are buried.
Every day.
They are buried.

And next to their graves,
there are even more blind dogs,
giving birds to many more words,
and these words give birth even after death.

and these words also create revolutions,
and they create chaos in our neighbourhoods,
and in our countries,
and in our homes.

And a poet is dead.
He doesn’t write anymore. No.

A shame.
A pity.

He seemed like a nice guy.
He seemed like a heavy drinker.
To be honest, no one ever cared about who he really was, 
Because a dead poet… why was he writing so much?

He could have a better job.
He could have a good salary.
He could have a real job,

one of those jobs that keeps all things as they normally are.