The plague

My uncle has been suffering from an incurable disease.
‘Take care, he whispered, it’s a plague which will spread out in the whole world, take care
The worst is that you grow younger faster than one usually grows old
In five years I will be thirty
In seven years I will be five’
It was a confession with many numbers; I can’t remember them all
‘We will end up swaddled in clouts
In the arms of the old men which haven’t grown younger yet
Or in the lap of the few immune who are the Chosen Ones
We will die as if we never existed
All our memories will be erased, one by one
At this very moment I have already forgotten my profession
Who is my future wife from the past when I was older?
I had children too, didn’t I?
Our minds will disintegrate into the emptiness they came from
We will remain dressed only in the skins of the soul at the end, take care’.
‘How do you realize that you are getting younger, I asked, if you are losing your memories?’
‘You feel fresher, freer, stronger, happier…’
‘And what if this is just an illusion?’
‘I don’t remember what you inquired of me, ask the question again!’
He began to bound, he was joyful like a clown
‘Great expectations will come true, he told me
If we cast off all the shreds of our memory
If we drop all our stacked faces
Maybe we’ll find out the secret of the soul
Some furrows from his forehead have already vanished’
He caressed my head, ‘take care…’

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