Masters Of Darkness Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

They go towards the hills of Afghanistan
our friendly young people,
astride the donkeys of Rumi,
with masculine fears and impudence
in the warm folds of their slacks
hiding an indifference, or discovering,
the secret of their fecundity…
With the nod of a juvenile head,
The color of the sweaters,
they cleave to the night,
under a star filled carousel which
invades, like they
splendid masters of darkness…