The passengers of the Charon's african will not reach to Lampedusa,
the impure stone in the middle of the Mare Nostrum
dreamed by those who emerge like clones
of the men and women dragged without a combat to the Coliseum.
But these invaders want only to live as romans,
they aren't the barbarians who came to Rome with rumble
to mute the latin forever
to splash with blood the laurels
and to break in pieces the Neron lyre.
Poor invaders
don't hit the Kafka door
nor ask for mercy to the Dante.
The bell towers of Europe as malignant lighthouses
steer their small boats of pilgrims without sword.
The ones that are going right now to the cross
can't greet the Cesar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a pleasure to read and think about, AJ
Thanks for you comment.