Tuesday, February 1, 2022







I met you on the Thames.

and I lost you: stranger,

one kiss after another and the game started

then it is over and I still hear your weeping,

flow incessantly like the waters of the river

and like a sweet torment surface in the mind

and the regret grows for haven’t loved you so much


So compelling, so poignant,

so exciting would have been,

this love ended up shattered,

like a glass of broken glass

and I still hear the murmur of crying.


On the Thames, I met you

and I saw you again, unknown, reflected on the river

your gaze winking, your suave smile

and your eyes shiny with tears,we two tightrope walkers,

reckless and fearless and like a sweet torment

surface in the mind and growing the regret

for haven’t loving you so much.


So compelling, so poignant,

so exciting would be

this love reduced to ashes,

like a burning fire that is extinguished

and I still hear the murmur of crying.







Tell me about the dream

that’s just been born

in the broken heart of a young life.

Blow strongly on the crazed rain

gushing under the golden sun

like a throbbing heart that melts

for love.

Just talk to me! wind impetuous.

You upset the fearless climbers,

you stir the sand in the desert,

the salt water in the sea,

you break the branches

to a yellow tree,

suddenly wounded by your vigor,

you lift in an instant the trodden

dust in the chaos you’ve left

flaunting your ardour.


Talk to me about some good things

that suddenly you wiped out,

someone that loved his country

and never came back,

someone else who beg for love

and received a thorn in his heart,

about the altruist who sacrificing

himself lost his life

and the uncertain future,

possible joy or immeasurable pain.

Just talk to me, wind!

But if you don’t know what to say

anymore, tell me that only you

are able to destroy in a second,

the most beautiful aspirations,

those loved ones

who will never come back.

Wind!  Why don’t you talk to me?

blowing loud you extinguished

the fire of love forever

and the hope of a better future.



The Springtime Of My Life


I think very intensely

about the springtime of my life,

I count frantically all those years,

it’s been a long time.

The journey that leads to eternity goes on.

I remember the smiles of the loved ones,

the desire of endless

and unfulfilled tenderness.

I wished and received hugs,

I said “I love you” so many times

and heartfelt kisses I gave back.

In spring I was born,

the most beautiful season of life:

the almond trees in bloom, the red poppies

stretched out towards the sun,

the healthy air and colored fields,

desire of love inextinguishable.

We cry and laugh without a reason,

the rain and the sun and suddenly:

“the rainbow”.

The "Spring": my favorite concert,

the bike without brakes,

the handlebars in my hands,

the desire of floating in the air, like a kite,

my passion:

to write poems, secretly, on the walls,

the colour palette splattered with colors

and the desire to paint the dawn,

the imaginary friends: “Hansel and Gretel”,

the butterflies like fairies,

blue wings to fly in Eden, the "Paradise lost",

and "the Ark of Noah" with nowhere to go.

In spring I was born,

the most beautiful season of life:

where’s the path! that leds me into the fairy tale

of "Alice in Wonderland",

the "Prince Charming" that holds my hand,

the "Wizard of Oz", with his magic,

the granny of “Little Red Riding Hood”

and “Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy".

I'll never see them again.

I invoke you: "Rise!"

meanwhile, with a trembling heart

I look forward to the next springtime of my life.




IOLANDA LEOTTA, poetess and storyteller, was born in Italy. She holds a degree in Sciences of Linguistic Mediation. Recently, her poetry book “L’esploratrice dei sentimenti e dei valori umani” has been published by Aletti editor and literary critic. It has been presented at “The Federiciano” International Poetry Festival. Testimonial of the public event was Alessandro Quasimodo. Her poems are found in literary anthologies of National and International Competitions.

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