How many promises have been dissolved?... Especially those we ourselves built in order to demand their fulfilment. When them, inevitably shatters, we feel broken and betrayed; but even this feeling is the side effect of a storm. When the sun reappears, smiling, we shake our heads and start walk again.

 

Straw Chair

On this September evening,
of thoughts lulled by an irreverent penumbra,
I look at a straw old chair,
die slowly breaking
after losing its tenacity.

What we have uselessly told
if their faces no longer look up?
If, in the long nights dark more than black,
the sun, the rain and the seasons
can’t they cultivate their hearts?

For too long we have deluded ourselves
in the hope of seeing them flourish.
They won’t survive the terror
without a dream to hold on to
to fly towards the new infinity.

“One day the dry bushes will bloom,
the petals will open in the morning.
You’re just a farmer in time,
you dug the earth for a sowing
of which you will never see the harvest.”

Then, you give me a soft caress
and the night doesn’t seem so dark anymore.
The flashes of a distant storm
are just fireworks
to celebrate the future time.