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A marmor-faced
girl, half-frozen to death
Trying to scrape the ice off the train’s window
To see whatever there was to see: bearded barbarians
Strange colours, which her rainbow hadn’t ever known
Smells that were to cut forever her umbilical cord.
The cold told her not to be deceived: this wasn’t Malta!
The non-Yorkshire accent of the uniformed aides
Startled her out of her sleep. She needed a hand to raise from
her berth
And chose that of reason: arguably she was heading home.
But was it plains? Was she to crave for a mirage, like in the
Hungarian flatlands?
Was it a yet undiscovered Switzerland to map and advertise?
Did it reach to the sea, the realm of the free and of dreamers?
Did it hide treasures underneath: civilisations waiting to
reveal roots of beauty?
Did it hide treasures above: was it teaming with life?
Did it hide treasures in the hearts: poets for its mind,
musicians for its breath?
Before she stepped out of the train, she knew all answers were:
"affirmative"
It was her blood, which had previously told her what she loved,
not what she was
It was its flow which told her this was both her source and her
sea.
The frozen, marmor-faced girl’ s breath was meant to thaw
The insidious, unseen ice; her clumsy hands were to put back
This land’s once broken limbs and make it walk again.
As equally frozen, silvery bands played an anthem she didn’t
know
She knew that, if need be, she would suck the poison from this
place’s wounds
Like an Amazonian shaman; and that she will burn of the desire
to burn
And be blown out like a candle in the many churches
She didn’t see yet, but whose bells were already tolling inside
her chest.
(About Queen Mary
of Romania or
Missy*)
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TRAJAN’S
COLUMN*
-a Crystalline Sonnet-
Piazza Venezia in
winter,
Not so inviting as before,
Leads keen explorers to discover
The hidden beauties of Old Rome:
This pure white pillar, wrapped in carvings
Will take you farther than you think:
Yes, from the Tiber to the Danube
Your thoughts, your dreams will soon be lured.
The mystery of birth, as ever
Is such a wonder to behold:
Those fur-capped fighters and their blonde wives,
Those shining-armoured Romans have
Given birth to this poet’s people
And the certificate is here!
*See
Trajan’s Column
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RO
A Bi-litteral Pleiade
Roads
can lead anywhere,
(Roaming souls find no rest!)
Roots are more than alive!
Roman, fast-boiling blood,
Romantic Thracian touch…
Rock or rend them, you will
Rob the world of a smile…
EXTREME
ODE
I
Even if you
refuse this song
it is yours…
Even if I forget what you look like
you are my home…
even if we don’t speak the same language anymore
my thoughts will, ultimately, be of you…
if you turn your back on me
I will appear in your innermost.
II
your honey
seems bitter to others
but honey it is to me.
your sea, not deep to some,
is my gate, my metaphor…
Your mountains-some look for higher ones,
But above you is just Heaven.
III
Give me your
poison and I will chose it over food,
your ingratitude will hurt, but I will cherish it more
than praises
force me not to like you and I will love you more than
what I like
deny me everything and I won’t deny you anything.
I’ll carry you with me and above you will be just Heaven
I’ll be at ease everywhere and at home just in you,
A citizen of the world flying your colours forever…
IV
This is my
extreme ode:
take it or leave it, but I won’t take it back.
Above you is just Heaven and even if you refuse it
it is yours!
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