Shrill voices, wild exaggerations
sharpening their tongues, deliriums
Voracious, like an army of ants,
they would even attack the Beloved One
who sprinkled on us
a nutricious drop
and a great measure of hope.
After their wild gesticulations,
in their fury
they will accept no peace.
They accept none but the monotonous chant
of the rachitic catechism
with which they have lulled them.
The Pharisees, always the Pharisees.