MARIA MIRAGLIA
The Boatswain
Warm is the
evening air
But grave the
silence
While Your
thought wanders
To distant times
(Nothing remains
of) to the boatswain
ready to set sail
and cross the
seas
strong the call
of distant lands
of exotic sounds
and scents
Fading are the
memories
Of the nights
under the starry
skies or
stained with dark
clouds
of your
awakenings
to the cries of
the seagulls
Old and tired
from o window
Of your lonely
house
You turn now the
gaze
where the sky
like a devote
lover
the sea kisses
and sad ask yourself
what you will
find
over that horizon
@ Maria Miraglia
A Man Who
Believes Himself A Gentleman
It gives me fun
to watch men
observe their
ways
They all think to
be good actors
even though
neither Visconti
nor Rossellini
would have ever chosen them
not even as
extras
How many of their
smiles
false and
mischievous
handshakes and
vain hypocrisies
but also knowing
the interlocutor
that all this is
just a game
old and foolish
he soon enters
the part
accepting praises
bows
reverent
greetings and
many more he
reciprocates
He brings his
smiles
up home where
closed the door
behind his back
gets rid of the
mask
of a man who
believes himself a gentleman
and of those he met
plague and horns
begins to tell
@ Maria Miraglia
Bonds
A bond of
friendship
Woven with the
gold threads
Of love
Knotted with the
common ideals
Of peace and
harmony
Doesn't fear the
winter winds
Nor storms
Or high tides
The time in its
slow
Inexorable
flowing
Will make it
Stronger and
stronger
@ Maria Miraglia
MARIA MIRAGLIA
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