Ue, sveglia (*)

Paul stepped into the glass spire,

heart pristine as morning dew,

bearing noble aspirations

to praised temples of ones and o's.

Colleagues chanted hymns of progress

—a global chorus, hands entwined—

weaving crystal castles of code

"for all," they vowed. For humankind.

What gardens might these seeds become?

He mused, drunk on their shared crusade,

while the architects whispered quietly

of markets, borders, fiscal shade.

Ue, svegliatee!

(Can pixels nourish fallow fields?)

The ledger’s truth: all roots must cling

to native soil. No wings. No wind.

Yet Paul still sways in the digital cathedral,

far from home,

haloed by screens,

a pilgrim of light,

unheard as gears grind

his name to dust—another ghost

fading into the static hum

of the ever-turning night.

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(*) "EU, wake up"