I knew: that face drenched in night and that smile suffused, unhappy, He was lost in the meadows, between mines in droves. What my heart trembles and over again does not say: the thundering weapons, cries, struggles, of dejected sol cervix hopes. The moans are dark clouds in fleets, crisscross the sky as saying in root and the deserted streets peace flies in the dreams of distant worlds. Now I stay in this inert earth, Now the wind silences and sweet silent sad thoughts that are like dogs stray in divided lands and folded.
Umberto F. M. Cefalà
11/01/11
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