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What did you think, Peter,

in those sixty minutes

between one fit of desperation and another?

How closely you came

to the absolute truth,

how much did you understand

how far human foolishness can go?

Sometimes the silence could turn into a cry.

The desperate cry of a person

who is horribly dying.

Full of your naivety

(Only eighteen years old!)

you realized what Man is made of,

and the Ideology, made by himself,

is a monster able to devour you

if you’re in its path.

Devoured…

And you,

pure people seeing that atrocity,

how powerless you felt

in front of a monster

made by yourselves?

How loud you shouted

“Murderers”,

a scream not coming from the throat,

but from the blood,

so devastating

was the truth

you understood

in that moment.

Sometimes the silence could turn into a cry.

The desperate crying of a person

who is horribly dying.

Full of your naivety

you realized what Man is made of,

and the Ideology, made by himself,

is a monster.

Is there a limit

to the pain I’ll have to see?

Faded pictures

constantly spreading in the mind,

and a nasty taste in the mouth.

How many lives in history

have been sacrificed

to the ideologies of Silence?

While the life

was gushing out of you

flowing down a cold wall

and finally mingling

with the dust and the mud,

your dreams

were falling down like

the bright stars

of an august night,

and they were dying on

a barren and bleak

strip of earth.

You see, Peter,

i can’t imagine just how you felt in that moment,

but one thing brings us together:

I often scream out

in the silence too.

And I have the fear that

nobody will hear me.