Sunday, May 1, 2016

CLAUDIA PICCINNO


CLAUDIA PICCINNO

MARE NOSTRUM

Ode to you
liquid cradle for the dreamers,
"Muse" for painters and for novelists,
"Promised land"
for seagulls and fishermen!
Ode to you
silent mirror
for rebels and for pioneers,
"Caronte"
for the inflatable boats of strangers!
Disturbed is your frenetic pulsing
because of the dross of the nuclear power plant.
Ode to the sparkling laughters
of bathers!
Ode to the tickle
that Grecale and Maestrale
test on the innocence of the wave.
Deaf and mute are the consciences
of the brave nocturnal helmsmen.
Ode to you, Mare Nostrum,
ode to your improvising yourself
pentagram of a several voices chorus,
sounding box of quick lullabies,
main road of hope,
vibrant warning to avoid the mattanza.








BAREFOOT

If that night
I had noticed
that I was already dead inside
I would have felt less those beatings
If alive
I had screamed my contempt,
I would have saved
my self esteem
a long ago.
I fed myself with dependence,
convinced it was only
belonging...
I have walked barefoot
inside my essence
to comb bald heads
behind matt windows glasses.








WINGS OF INK
Glossy pages
they wink by the shop windows,
wrinkled pages
smile at
the lonely hearts,
illustrated pages
promise
adventures and knowledge.
Wings of ink
trace
routes of knowledge,
rewrite
flight routes,
that with tender touch
cradle a dream.
I devoured
kilometers of lines
without taking a step.
Here I am.
I landed!
The time of an airport change
I'll leave for
new runways,
I will do the check in
to my astonishment
I will recognize
other flights addicted
and I will never be sated!

Edited in The ceiling- Il soffitto
Ed.La lettera scarlatta, Italy 2016

CLAUDIA PICCINNO

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