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Poem

What is nowadays West, in a moment of relaxation
While you wait for the green on a crossroad:
Impressions dissolve in stuffiness, preceding rainfall,
Although there are no other signs of rain.
Poor Jim Morrison, the whole generation
Of melancholic, alco-dependant kids 
Was growing old, listening in awe to his invocations. 
He clearly stated the west is the best, 
We quickly and joyfully surrendered, 
Puffing rings, bowing languidly to the rhythms of the End.
Fortunatelly, my West stays the same, in general
Though compared to Morrison’s time 
West may look a bit more Babylonian.
You get clusters of towers, mounting up 
Which are the cathedrals of Marduk, 
Who is the most disguised of all the Gods,
But even he is disclosed
For those who wish to know - 
Needless to say, there are very few initiates.  
Whereas the majority live in blissful ignorance, 
Using those towers like homes,
They elevate up and down, go in and out
Doors revolve every second in perpetual motion. 
Tower people are happy about their work and after hours
And whatever else they are happy about in the depths of shallow bustle,
Unbeknownst to themselves, Mardukians
Unknowingly serve their obscure God
Who uses his almighty power
Just for the fun of it, like the other Gods did,
Until their cult passed into oblivion.

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