A glass of liquid
full with hemlock juices.
The Hemlock death is a nasty one.
It depresses the nervous system
It brings paralysis
It takes away your speaking faculties
long before the light leaves you.
Great philosophers, politicians, poets
who knew and lived by the power of words
had to drink this.
They have made last speeches of fire
desperate to chisel words on the stone
of which was made the heart of their judges
Sometimes a disciple sat hidden in the back row
writing quickly the last utterances,
suppressing tears so that he may capture
a word - another word - more clearly.
Later, there was a close circle of friends
in a room too small to contain anything but friendship.
The people he taught, who loved him,
bowed quietly and left one by one.
They knew he did not want
to lose speech
to go back to the animal state
in front of those who admired the man in him.
Later, there is loneliness.
One man holding a glass of liquid.
Suddenly,
he doesn't care more for memories.
We do not live in the memory of our friends.
We die.
He raises the cup slowly
and the air is too bright.
He closes his eyes
and slowly drains the hemlock
like a kiss.