CLAUDIA PICCINNO

CLAUDIA PICCINNO

ADAM, EVE AND THEIR POETRY

Is your poem lost forever?

the only nod of a likely happiness,

Fleeting forgetfulness of pain,

Suspended dimension of the impossible.

Incredible anger

devastated the geography of a soul,

When the silence sank the blade

In the signs ofloneliness.

She ... threatening

Prey of an atavistic fear,

Unconscious victim of a bond

Which could not exist.

A poem without verses or stanzas

A poem without students

That they learn it by heart,

An unrecognized poem

from Unesco.

Eve looked for it in doubt

In the journey and in her guilt,

In the excuses sent and never delivered,

Eve has looked for it in Adam's threats,

In the voices of the Sibylites and in a day

Of the calendar.

Maybe was it lost with that red rose

Of a summer evening

swept by windings of Narcissus?

Or it was the fruit of hallucinations

Of a little Eve?

Tell me Adam, tell me.

LOVE?

Love is the sunflower

Which turns in my direction

As I was the only light of the day,

Love is the man who waits for me

At the slopes of the mountain,

Love rests in the shadow of my freshness

And improves my  way so hard.

Love knows what I miss

And it does not punish me with his absence,

Love listens to all my silence,

Love fills the black hole of a distance

It does not dig up with its omissions.

Love doesn’t live as a fault its distractions,

he replaced them with laughters or conscious privations.

Love has no logic or prohibitions,

Love has restless beats .......

Love rustles in memories

He hesitates behind a display

And dies as surrogate of a false addiction

Which misunderstands the sense of belonging.

WAITING FOR GODOT

Two yolks in an egg

Life and its double

Foscolo and Ortis

Dr. Jekill and Mr Hyde,

I am here

waiting for Godot.

Do you believe

That Love can be learned?

Be silent, it’s obvious

That you don’t know how to do.

And me?

I learned to return the low blows

After repeated unnecessary forgiveness.

Love and hate

Truth and lie

Feeling and calculation.

Two yolks in an egg.

His shell crushed

In crazy chippings

waiting for Godot.

CLAUDIA PICCINNO