Blessed are the cockroaches.
In this country they are the citizens who last.
They need no police
to promulgate their peace
because they tolerate
each other's smell or greed.
Friends to dark and filth,
they do not choose their meat.
Although they neither sown
or reap, a daily feast
is laid for them in rooms
and kitchens of their pick.
The roaches do not spin,
and neither do they weave.
But note the russet coat
the sluggards wear: clothed
at birth, roaches require
no roachy charity.
They settle where they wish
and have no rent to pay.
Eviction is a word
quite meaningless to them
who do not have to own
A wave of saudade swept over me as I realized home never existed at all. The concept of home felt far from my reach, and I felt sick with longing.
Was it all worth it?
'you, seed of an evil genius and precarious offspring of hard fortune,
whose life is but for a day, why do you compel me to tell you those things of which it is better you should remain ignorant?
For he lives with the least worry who knows not his misfortune;
but for humans,
the best for them is not to be born at all,
not to partake of nature's excellence; not to be is best,
for both sexes.
This should be our choice,
if choice we have;
and the next to this is,
when we are born,
to die as soon as we can.'
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