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With death so near, he must have felt like someone on the brink of freedom, resdy to start all over again.

An alien at home behind the sun
Half forgotten or malobserved
Floated up from my memory
Visualizing every piece of furniture
A tiny dent
An incrustation
A chipped edge
The exact grain
Color of the woodwork

No one, no one had the right to weep for him
Remained to hope was that one day of my execution
There would be a huge crowd of spectators
They will greet me with howls of execration

Not for my departure but theirs’
To the start on a voyage to world which had ceased to concern me forever.