The Rebel

Who are you?
I am a tyrant of fire and light.
And your heart?
It is the slave of my reason.
You are incredulous. You do not believe me.
My faith is stronger than adversity.
You are generous.
I don’t worry about sweetness. I am protected by iron.
My benevolence is worn out. You are an unbeliever.
I have understood the passion to which people are victims. I have felt pity
for them and found it to be not enough.
You are very magnanimous. Who are you?
The goal of your dreams and pardon for the perverse soul; hope of the unhappy
exile, appeasement of unquenchable thirst . . .
The vision of things in the unknown corners of creation.
I am a mocking goddess; with a gesture I can brush away your certitudes.
I am a rock on which the flames of pride are broken.
One by one the mocking, bellowing fires are extinguished
In tumult and chaos.
Each victim is worth more to me than the stupidities of lovers.
I am the certainty of illusion, the true and the false.
And you, who are you?
I . . . I am someone passing by.
I am tenacious in generosity.
I am the one who thirsted and no longer thirsts.
I am the sleep of yesterday and the awakening of its distant echo.
1 am the mirror of the soul that unveils itself. I am the pride of past years.
I am the obstacle.
I am the silence of those who plead and the weeping of the haughty.
I am the tears of eyes that can weep no more, the beating of hearts that
are already dead.
I am the butt of your jokes.
I am you yourself.
And you, who are you?