Pettorano. Mother and brother.
The stone house, clean and warm,
key in the open door,
crickets singing eternal arias.
In time, love grows remote.
The road does not exist; the field
of vineyards, toiled and reddish,
is the way, like a full moon shining,
and silver tambourines glistening in
the thin blue mountain snow.
What moonlight, what rest
inside the slotted cemetery walls!
I have cheated enough!
I have lied enough!
I have taken my share!
Here, the only healthy thing to do is die.
This is the way out, that I’ve wanted so badly,
running escaping into the twilight.
Pettorano. If only we could rise up, divine
like the son of man!
Pettorano. Brothers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem. It really touches me. You are saying my thoughts.