Luciano pavarotti

Luciano Pavarotti

The twilight sun is white looks as torch with a faulty
battery; the late summer heat is passionless and tired,
the sun scares the old people a bad sign, they will say.
Pavarotti died at dawn, cancer. his heart too gregarious
for a coronary. To day my brother has been dead for
forty years, he liked to go fishing in his boat, took me
along when not out with his many mates. It is good to
wake up at dawn and be handed a clean sheet of white
paper to write on and with a pen dipped in the ink of
memories. Alzheimer is a terrible illness it erases all
what makes us human. I will write no more, but go into
the next room and listen to Pavarotti, I will have to go
to his birthplace Medina, Italy, one day.