Black fires

Picture from here

 

I remember your eyes as two fires
even if black as black was the cape
that hid everywhere your face and the body
years ago, there, in the underground train

You seemed proud and contemptuous about
myself and all my so perverse world
too much free or perhaps I hurt you
staring at your so lovely eyes

You were Arab, maybe, anyway
from another world; you seemed me
really beautiful, so upright and sure
to be better than us, flabby and weak

I don’t know when I saw you, the year
when we met on that train, far in time.
In those days we had no fear or suspicion
about evil intention by Islam

Then the towers, the wars and the crazy
attacks made by your people … by you?
Our planet was wide at that time
now each thing changes and the Earth is so small

 

January, 16th 2018

Italian version

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In the hell that we are

Luca Signorelli, i dannati, Duomo di Orvieto (part.)
 Luca Signorelli, The damned, Orvieto Cathedral

In the 2017 edition of 2lei, SL event for the elimination of violence against the women, there was also a work based on my texts. This is the machinima made by Marissa during the event.

I’m sorry because today exists only the Italian version.

I am proud for this work and also touched for the beautiful readings and interpretations of Ortensia, Exantia and Eloisa: three friends and three women.

I am grateful to Elettra, who asked me to write this text, and to Terry, who built the staghe design.

I am especially grateful to my friend Kristine, who understood the true meaning of my texts before than I did.

And, of course: Lemonodo! Thank you very much!

Oh! if you want to see a not so bad translation, as Lemonodo told me, you can click the “subtitles” button, in the right bottom side of the youtube window. Then, select “English” in the settings!

 

🙂

Italian version

Here, the Hell


Here we are, as a part of a gear
that is pain made by pain
girls and women we were and now fear

     Winter days give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this ourselves made hell
     where no one can breathe well

Frozen chains bound the hearts and cold rain
like old blood wets the buds
of black plants on the ground to a drain

     Winter ways and the figures
     of this wasteland which quivers
     lead us to this foul hell
     where I hear that death knell

Life to death again: that is the flood.
Sisters moan among whispers
that strike our ears as can do a stud

     Winter boys give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this themselves made hell
     where they grow rude and swell
 

Now the life changed and it's a whipper:
red wounds filled my skin and my soul
and my tears grow so much… as a river

September, 16th 2017

Italian version