Translated by: Zoran Ančevski
When Aristotle approbated
Of Things
And ordained the path of how to transform the clear into the cloudy
And when the smile grew into grips
The pain was already there
Because the hand was already modelled by a hand
And the word by a word
To expel the evil from the world
But the evil abided inside
And into the inexorable principles
And in the inevitable behaviours
Because from wine and the Sun the drunken
Dionysius was waving around with his phalus and sword
Forcing the skinned animals to sing
So the song was born
While women wrapped themselves in black
While the towers burnt and the chips sank
And into the horses teshed the corn on the ground
And the Sun grew into a dry mountain-ash
And the blood left the body
It did not have a great connection with heroism
Neither the cry of solitudeness nor the tears of the waste home
Of the philosopher who would even now set
All that butchery into pleasing principles
Of the game
While the audience go on
Applauding to the death