Tuesday, November 1, 2022

IRIS VIGNOLA

 

 If It Is Constelled With Love


Labyrinth of tombs

so squalid and painful,

abandoned, in the passing of time that has exacerbated them.

I catch alive expressions,

from yellowed images of ancient faces.

Defocused looks,

that conceal the unknown motive of being alive.

 

Imaginary unknown corpses,

into sepulchres

pregnant with faded ash.

The essence has indeed departed,

from the last sigh of the life.

Questions arise, as thoughts,

devoid of just sentences,

but only of presuppositions.

 

She... He who was matter,

woven with an impetus of love,

fed him in life? Did he make it his Bible, his will?

Such lips, now more remembered,

that have the corners that pose smiles,

how much love did they give then?

How much, also talked about?

 

The wind of silence hides stories,

that tell of experience and regret, for what was not,

of death and resentment, of joy and pain,

although, first of all, it dissolves the black veil from that song,

that rises from the earth everywhere,

circling every lonely heart

to pour love into it, clearing away the black shadow of hatred.

 

Eternal good and imperishable evil,

in solitary struggle with no escape.

Legendary, their antagonist flowing in the race of power,

of which the mounds are wise

and they know what is true,

what was written from the beginning.

To sin, equal to making a mistake in existential choices.

 

Weak, the flesh, finally scourges itself,

however, it becomes, forgiveness, the essential,

if it is constellated with love,

as a prospect of universal wealth,

that leaves nothing to chance, but has melted,

in shaping the entity as the fulcrum of the concept of existence,

conjugated to the Light of the Eternal.

 

Conscience enjoins, in making choices,

whether they are wretched or just, in his opinion,

sometimes distorted in the heart,

who, in return, longs to free himself from being subjected,

if it is questioned,

so that rebel, placing oneself in command, honoring love.

 

SE D'AMOR È COSTELLATO

 

Dedalo di tombe, sì squallide e penose,

abbandonate, nel correre del tempo che l'ha inasprite.

Colgo espressioni vive,

da immagini ingiallite di volti antichi.

Sguardi sfocati,

che celan l'incognito movente d'esser vivi.

 

Immaginarie salme sconosciute, cinte in sepolcri

testé pregnati sol di cenere sbiadita.

L'essenza, invero, s'è dipartita,

dall'ultimo sospiro della vita.

Quesiti sorgon, in veste di pensieri,

pur privi di sentenze giuste, ma sol di presupposti.

 

Colei... Colui che fu materia, tessuta d'impeto d'amore,

lo alimentò in vita? Ne fece la sua Bibbia, il suo volere?

Tal labbra, ormai più rimembrate,

ch'han gli angoli ch'atteggiano sorrisi,

quant'amore allor hanno donato?

Di quanto, altresì parlato?

 

Il vento del silenzio cela storie,

che narran di vissuto e di rimpianto, per quel che non è stato,

di morte e di rancore, di gioia e di dolore,

seppur, innanzi tutto, dissolva il velo nero da quel canto,

che s'alza dalla terra in ogni dove,

circuendo ogni cuore solitario

per riversarci amore, sgombrando l'ombra nera del livore.

 

Bene sempiterno e imperituro male,

in lotta solitaria senza scampo.

Leggendario, il lor fluire antagonista nella gara del potere,

di cui saggi son i tumuli

che ognor san quel ch'è vero,

ciò ch'era stato scritto, dal principio.

Peccare, al pari di sbagliare scelte esistenziali.

 

Debole, la carne, si flagella infine,

tuttavia divien, perdono, l'essenziale,

se d'amor è costellato,

qual prospetto di ricchezza universale,

che non lascia nulla al caso, ma s'è fuso,

nel plasmare l'entità quale fulcro del concetto d'esistenza,

coniugata alla luce dell'Eterno.

 

Ingiunge, la coscienza, nell'attuar le scelte,

sian esse grame o giuste, al suo parere,

falsato talune volte al cuore,

che, di rimando, brama affrancarsi dall'assoggettarsi,

s'è posto in discussione,

cosicché ribellarsi, ponendosi al comando, onorando l'amore.


IRIS VIGNOLA

 

IRIS VIGNOLA: The author Iris Vignola was born in La Spezia, where she has always lived. Nel fantastico mondo delle fiabe is her collection of twelve stories for children and for those who still love to dream, published in three different editions, with different illustrations. The latest edition is  "Nel fantastico mondo delle fiabe - Into the fantastic world of the fairy tales", enriched with new illustrations, created by the author, in collaboration with her granddaughters Irene and Veronica and in double Italian and English version. Her first poem "A mia madre" is inserted in the anthology of various poets “Poems for a mother”. Her poetry books are "Unico Amore" (the first, written with the poet Horion Enky) - "Non sogno e non realtà" - "Dinanzi a me, c'è solo il mondo" - "Mi voltai... e vidi quel fiore". "Streghe, folletti e fate filastrocche magiche e favole incantate" and "Filastrocche magiche e favole incantate" are two books for children, both in collaboration with Horion Enky. Her fantasy trilogy is "La Stirpe di Luce - Dynasty of Light". The first book is "La scelta di Asaliah - Asaliah's choice" in the Italian and English version.The second book is " Le Origini - The Origins". The third book is “Nephilim: Angelica e demoniaca genesi - Nephilim: Angelic and demoniac genesis”. Some of her lyrics are published in more anthologies of various poets, made solely for charitable purposes.

 


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