He was immersed in his knowledge, his sorrow, his glory
like being in an ancient sarcophagus. We all stood by him
with our dedication or our envy — irrelevant —
we stood by him.
At some time one of us leaned over him
as he was smiling with closed eyes
in a tyrannizing and secret light of his own he said:
you, who taught us not to forget, you forgot of us;
therefore we shall forget of you too. And then, him,
took his right, dead leg out of the casket
as if he was stepping on the stirrups of a horse and
he vanished riding the light. We didn’t cry at all;
we knew that he would return to us again from a different
road, perhaps less great and perhaps more ours.