FLORA

Flora                                                        

I feel the burning sensation coming from my land,

the desperate scream of the herbs that are dying,

from bare hedges with no leaves, and

from trees surrounding the dedicated Casa Del Vento.

Even the prodigious olive tree is thirsty in waiting for the rain;

it does not matter from which cloud it will come; when it does it will be warm.

It is us, us pawns, the unconscious executors of the god of money,

the authors of this scorching heat that today is thirsty and tomorrow is hungry.


More and more swamp takes up space with its unbearable miasma

that risk becoming mortal if we don’t give a hand.

Looking for further helpful hands,

of looks and hopes that aim far, waiting for the cloud and the rain that will be unloaded.


It will be the new buds and flowers that will bloom,

the beats of butterfly wings,

the paired ladybugs,

the desire for nectar of bees,

the crazy flights of swallows and the gliding flights of eagles.


To make projects, The Dreams of a New Tomorrow.
Pasquale Di Lena, 2020