There’s a flamenco version for everything
As Parmenides said
In his broken Spanish.
Open the hatch pushing against the cobblestones,
It’ll spatter out. It’ll eat walls and nails,
As if a song sufficed to fuel a fire.
Hear the cries of who longed
For the mercy of a spectators’ nation.
There’s a gipsy song for every grain of ash.
When you will seize anew the wrought iron gates,
There’ll be fire in your hand,
And slow hand claps cheering from high heavens.
Crédit image : Charles Pascarel