“The epic”
It weighed down on my soul
Like a lead ball
Or an illogical situation
The epic
Of your life
To which
I still don’t know
How to
React
In this rainy evening
Busy and loud
With my time by my side as thoughtful
As a priest
Knelt at the foot
Of an altar
Encumbered with the spiritual beatitude
Of a weeping country girl
Speaking the bare language of guilt.
Such a gentle lady walking beside me
like a dignified dark haired
Madonna
Worshiping her own privilege
While all of us stood ready to accept
The permissible weapon
Of her message
Yet there is a sense which allows to regard
Her body as a paradox
Or else an occasion
Revealing the sub-variety
Of what has been constantly preached.
Erminia Passannanti (31.10.2001
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