Berith, the scarlet horse



Tight thighs on the flanks of a scarlet horse,

Riding raw, no need of saddle, nor of bit.

Free and glorified ego!


On the finger, the golden ring,

On my forehead, the royal crown of the underworld.

I shout the victory cry of the accomplished:

I am king! I am god of my world!


All around, it rains truths in tight trombones.

Priests, politicians and conservatives seize it,

They weave chains to lock up the credulous.

They forge balls to immobilize the weakened spirits,


Religious authorities and archaic dogmas, I blaspheme you.

Counter-revolutionaries sis-normed, agitators with patented idiocy, I conchie you!

Nauseating fog, lies and fantasies, delusions and plots,

Berith!


Who blows on the embers of the fire of knowledge?

Who will summon the wind and disperse the obscurantist mists?

I clutch my thighs to the flanks of the scarlet horse,

I wait for no one, I am alone and free.


My ego rules my world!