I thank infinitely, Manuela Timofte. I am really moved by her attention to my poems. Each time it is like an unexpected gift.
by Marcello Comitini
In front of the twilight that colors the sky red and scatters gold among the trees and the shadows of the buildings my poor body remains in the gray of the fog. If I could I would abandon it in the corner where the last flowers have lost their perfume. I ask because my mind soars up to the stars There I sharpen my eyes and look at my brothers. I hear them talking, I see them move in a land now dying between buildings built by madmen. on the gray asphalt exchanged with a cloudy sky. They admire in a dream their beauty. If they don’t find it they look back and reshape their bodies with scalpels. They delude themselves to push death backwards. With masks carved on the flesh they dance to rhythms unknown to me. The red of the sky All I need is…
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