Sibifus parable of the Light: “in a dark box was Sibufus, under a vile phoneme of resistance as the Hellenic soldiers prepared to attack and redouble the efforts of a final counterattack. Sibufus was enraptured by a maiden named Artemis in whom he took refuge, she molded with her hands the lanterns of the night with the lamps of lychnos that pierced the soul of Sibifus and her gaze when Artemis was exasperated listening to her exclaim in the thickest darkness, in a hiss in the form of words, images and strict shadows, which he romanticized in all those who wandered with Lychnos at night, concealing his offspring and finding hemispheres of day and night in a plane of darkness. Artemis not being sleepy at night, became angry with the goddess Nix, snatching a dream with mead from her and depositing him in the palace at night, but in darkness, confusing the dream with creative and fantasy death with Sibifus, of which he is locked in a box near the visions that hit Artemis's window. In the hinges that glistened when he tried to open them, shades of gloom shared in the native darkness making little chance of being close to each other, Sibifus was always condemned to a romanticism presided over by the imprisonment of his voice, but if he could whistle, Artemis enjoyed his freedom when he went out to observe him through the window of every spring. Sometimes the Thuellai would stop flowing, she being able to bring her eardrums closer to the tones, when he whistled with splendor, magnifying himself many times to reach his court, when he often told him to feel sad because the world was aging him, remaining within his whistles cast on a young night. When Artemis listened to him, believing that she felt him ..., sometimes she answered him with the sighs of an infant running through the Aristotelian teachings, of which they were always late, but with great courage from his high spirit that awaited him from his rose window, knowing very well little that awaited him, although the darkness of the night was hidden behind the messages of his phonemes and whistles, frequently in his poor heart that was encouraged in locution for something better, to see the new face and voice of Sibifus, but nowhere Capitol fire that made him understand his words crossed with uncrossed whistles. Until from the underworld the voice of Sibifus emerged making everything reality together with his real voice, whistling and singing as many times as necessary, so that his seduced could hear him and no evil would extend a lost whistle, less to a voice exonerated from crying by the darkness of the night. Something of littleness in his neuroanatomy automated him from a loving language through the streets of discernment that he learned with melodic frequency between monodies of hemispheres cut by the edge of his voice, but not from a hiss, denouncing in him capacities of cortical dysplasia that diagnosed him of maleficent gray substance of his cortex, leaving him at the mercy of an epilepsy, which always and in all the will of the ceremonial in Sibifus recurred. In dualities they bathed in the ceremonial of ablution and holy water, known as loutra, always prowling all the skies and lavender fields of Patmos, with Minoans whistling in the distance of Darkness and in a night of devotion, in a Lutrophor that from a vessel that circulated from hand to hand and that brought them water for their nuptial bath, Sibufus making a mistake, taking it through the orbit of the funerals and the regional area, instead of going for their nuptial trousseau, being imprisoned one of the other in his celibacy, which later was transferred into the Loutra with his hands, and Sibufus as well, but fertilizing himself in the sounds of a whistle beyond the light and the first layer of the earth, not being able to hear them in a low voice, or in full darkness that from afar seems to call them "

(Prócoro, takes their hands one with another and begins to return to his cell, letting the monosyllables of the night be silenced and carry him beyond the darkness, losing himself in the sounds that were moving away from him. The night is silent, but emits whistles that speak of love that nothing and no one understands, and less remotely from where the light will come)