You a God? Oh, No.
You're as tender as a doll made of butter.
Your eyes are always filled with tears.
How often, while talking, you stop abruptly
as though lamentations in ante-rooms of centuries
converge in your throat?

When all mourners leave and darkness falls
You alone stay, and bathe the corpse of someone
you do not know.
Your alone teach it to speak the way children speak
and, at midnight, you are either smiling
as though listening to a lover's whispers,
or swaying, from head to toe, in the tornado of its sighs

You alone know what happened in the night,
At dawn, however, I look at your face and
know without a doubt.
You're no God.
The eyes are red with sleeplessness, the cheeks show
the course of your tears,
and, as for your voice, it is hoarse
with night-long declamations.

If you were a God, why should you have wept and railed?
So, dear non-God, even if all people in all the world
 believe you're what you're not,
I know you'll go through a lifetime of anger and sorrow
and grow older and older
till, some day, like me,
Your breath ceases for ever.

Come, come, let me erase your grief of failing
to bend the firmament of stars,
and the bloodstains of numerous futile battles from your body.
Look, no hangman has bothered to be present today.
Descend from the gallows, and under cover.
of the dawn's mist,
change into the clothes of the one people believe you are
and, playfully and bravely,
arrive on our streets.