anjodorio
02/08/2022Nobody lowers to tears or reproaches this declaration of the mastery of God, who with magnificent irony gave me both the books and the night. He made owners of this city of books to eyes without light, which can only read in the libraries of dreams the insane paragraphs that the dawns yield to their eagerness. In vain the day lavishes its infinite books on them, arduous as the arduous manuscripts that perished in Alexandria. From hunger and thirst (he narrates a Greek story) a king dies among fountains and gardens; aimlessly I fatigue the confines of this high and deep blind library. Encyclopedias, atlases, the East and the West, centuries, dynasties, symbols, cosmos and cosmogonies provide the walls, but to no avail. Slow in my shadow, the hollow gloom I explore with the indecisive staff, I, who imagined Paradise under the guise of a library. Something, which is certainly not named by the word chance, governs these things; another already received in other blurry afternoons the many books and the shadow.