Classic Poem

Who killed the last fighter?
I know who ...
Your Royal Highness!
I know who put out his eyes and who
cut off his hands and who
mutilated his glorious dream
I know who ...
I've watched that youngster grow
long before he was born again
in his vision and longing
long before he lay in ambush
at every bend of the road
long before
his dream spanned all this earth
and his love embraced it
long before he became
sometimes a bleeding knife
I know, Your Royal Highness
who killed that last fighter.

I know who ...
for a thousand, thousand nights
I stood vigilant at his door
stayed awake in the blackness of his eyes
became part of his bitter nights
part of the rays that shone in his exile.
For a thousand, thousand times
I was the mired blood on his skin.

I know who. . . . .
— Who killed the last fighter?
Who killed the ...
— I know who ...
— Who killed him?
— Speak out, who?
— If I should say who,
My Royal Prince
I would become
the slain witness of the last fighter.

It was you and I,
My Royal Prince,