SPHINX Poem by Giovanni Quessep

Happy you that don't look
into the eyes of the Sphinx,
and don't see that the labyrinth of its sand
is blue; terrible
knowledge of a bitter life
that the last gardens give to us.
Happy you that don't know
who weaves the illusion of your tapestries,
neither who the spinner of your days is,
vintager that gives a sad wine.
You sing your hymn, crazy of hope,
and don't know if you die or you live.