Claudia Piccinno writes

The courage of the losers

He has big eyes… Ismael
a parched mouth Ikrahm,
a ringing voice Aziz.
They are far from the train of the wind
the English Kindertransport
when the war afflicted Europe
They are the kids on the way
The innocent eyes of today,
the lambs sacrified to the cross
by land and by sea
those we see parading at the tv news
we the servants of Charon,
we "the civilians"
we hostages of indifference,
victims and possibly accomplices
of a similar addiction..
We are on the edge of the path
crowded with outstretched hands,
we... we are motionless
with our hidden little arms
that do not essay to offer any help.
He has big eyes… Ismael
a parched mouth Ikrahm,
a ringing voice Aziz.
Din of bombs
in their memories,
at the foot sores
chilblains and hands.
The baton of the guards
spares no one,
It is worse than the swing of the tides,
It seems the hunger of sharks.
Poverty, famine, epidemics.
Ismael, Ikrahm, Aziz;
To go, to stay, to come back
The civilized Europe has invented
a deadly device:
the refugee camp
to make us accustom
to the diaspora of the Lambs
to the obtuseness of our minds
to the unmathed courage of the losers.

Ikrahm, Aziz, and Ismael are the names of kid refugees. I thought about them, after my pupil John told me about his travel from Nigeria to Italy.





The Last Judgment [detail]-- Michaelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Claudia Piccinno writes

The incautious word

The incautious word
She tickled ill-concealed resentment,
the anger exploded
Where the lynx grazed
The others’ false kindness
swallowed purity
Of a bitter deaf, true listening
And I worried,
I would love to pray oh Peace!
I wondered about it
In search of the true,
I resilient
Among the lies of others.
I picked thorns in bundles
Not to have surrendered
To the liar of the moment,
I looked at him...
to sprinkle petals around her
who married her own truth
To have a pure better look.
I did not bend, time did the rest.
Madame Plastic pissed them all
In a comfortable opinion,
In mediatic smiles
she recovered opportunities.
Only the incautious verb
Was my mate
And one day I’ll triumph
my self being reflected in the glass.
 
 Woman in Mirror -- Gerhardt Isringhaus