Another man's voice confirms what I know--

       "in the spring and autumn
       there are no righteous wars"

At twilight I walked
through the rotten orchards of withered fruits
and sterile trees

the grass was also mute
no bird perched on the branches

the sea was far away now
but I was still living in memory

as if the grass was a wave
and the trees islands
and the fruits the ripe cities of imagination

Call this a triumph or an evasion
and you will be right for you
but wrong for me
for the streets I walked were not those of this town
but the hometowns of the islands

and for once the twilight
was beauty and not a burden
was a welcoming series of shades
of the various darks and earths
of which I was composed

and truly, in spite of history and the present
there were no righteous wars.

Every shadow confirmed this.
I wavered between one and the next
seeking a patch of clarity
until I realised that clarity
was there in the dark, in the twilight of our world

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