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