Jun 2015
Drunk with solitude
he goes up the alleys
knocking doors
that no one opens.
Through a window
someone,
discreet, peeks.
The mockery of the children,
deafening echo, resounds.
Even a dog
doesn't want
to wag its tail.
Restless
he hurries his stride
until he finds himself
running
faster and faster
gasping
and then sweating
and then crying out
“Mum”
and at last
a door opens.
22.2.'09
he goes up the alleys
knocking doors
that no one opens.
Through a window
someone,
discreet, peeks.
The mockery of the children,
deafening echo, resounds.
Even a dog
doesn't want
to wag its tail.
Restless
he hurries his stride
until he finds himself
running
faster and faster
gasping
and then sweating
and then crying out
“Mum”
and at last
a door opens.
22.2.'09
The original poem ("Il “matto” del paese") is in Italian.
There is no good translation for a poem.
I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome.
There is no good translation for a poem.
I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome.
(Italy)
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