Paola Degli Esposti

Rookie - 150 Points (22/03/1962 / Bologna)

Drops Of Memory

Stranger, in a land so free
standing on a grey platform
in a place it is foreigner
and i am stranger here
the underground i am waiting for
i am feeling alone this afternoon
stranger in a land
so green
stranger in a place
so free
or at least i am trying to
see in this way
the age i have is not
really mine
the eyes i have
are too much full of things
to regret
i move in this city
so big
to me
to me
all this seems to
be amazingly
free some, times love is returned

Angel, light of no limit

soft wind
of gracious serenades
all glories,
a word
of prudence,
and patiente
a word
without the end,
golden hairs,
the image
is yours,
is your
eyes are seeing
far and
on a wall
of no sign
or blasphemy,
soft wind
no despair
and no danger,
soft wind
pray a word
of simpathy,
of no limit,
is not
nor fantasy
soft wind,
the wisdom
from a single place,
and echo it in
every where


Wrapped in my mind
I cannot escape,
wrapped in my mouth
i cannot speak,
wrapped in my heart
i cannot say,
Wrapped in my suit
i cannot sweat,
i go and i come
in my day,
i drink a tea
and i make a smile,
but myself
is praying loud,
can't you hear a word of it?
Colourful eye and
seizing a cloud,
beating my heart and
i am not alone,

And let disdain away

sowing seeds of love,
where love is only pure,
let the love repair,
all bad the uncertain made,
sing a whole love song
and let disdain away,
merciful the mouth
who sings pure wisdom words,
the day and the night,
identify your note
and pick up all the joy,
straight will be the fun
and sweet the only heart.

The young doctor

clear eyes, clear eyes,
never trust a pretty face.
clear eyes, clear eyes,
i just knew more than i told you.
Clear eyes, clear eyes,
white shirt, no smile.
Clear eyes, clear eyes,
it' s complicated and motivated.

Nervous my step, i see of you, more
than you see, i m in mission,
i cannot avoid that. Please understand,
i have my needs just as you have.


and you want to change it,
and you want to hide,
it is a form that you see
and it makes you frighten,
it is a noise
you hear,
that it makes you get back,
it is a problem
that the superb
doesn't want to know,
is it ugly, isn't it?

Submitted: Tuesday, May 06, 2014
Edited: Saturday, May 17, 2014

Topic of this poem: memory

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