Eparch
Night had fallen when we arrived at the Eparch’s castle.
Found him singing the somber song of the exiled and about
the end that always came uninvited; tattoos covered his
body, signs of superiority meant for the upper class established
by a heavenly authority, crooked thoughts like fog in the brain
of suitors and harlots besieging the minds of men from
the dubious clan until the cock called midnight.
It was autumn and night fell early; melancholy was
abundant when the Übermensch uncovered his chest and
we observed the red rose on His right side, and this was
the commencement of our initiation and novice as we were
we couldn’t understand the deep meaning of His thought
when He repeated: ‘After a few lifetimes even this autocratic
Eparch will become my brethren.’
Libros Libertad 