worms of darkness are born from the corpse
of the light among them the dead scrapes the ground
with his stony cross
the midwife dressed in black shows him the way
with the lancet
nine months in the death's womb
withdraws in turn the stages of his life
like a snail into his shell until
he becomes a point through which as in a hourglass
he passes his body in the other empty half
"do not deplore him, my friends
after nine months he'll be born again
and he will grow with you
until Somebody will reverse again the hourglass"

this is the rule of the game