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THE SIGNAL IS FADING

Don’t pity the man you have been,
because pity is too brief:
It doesn’t give you time to build anything there.
At night, in a small airport,
you watch a plane taking off.
The signal is gradually fading.
You feel the conviction that you are living
through years with no hope that are now (already?)
the happiest of your life.
There is another poetry, there always will be,
just as there is another music.
That of the deaf Beethoven. When the signal is fading.

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