Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Biographical notes: Enza Salpietro is a poet and writer from Catania (Sicily-Italy). She graduated in Modern Literature at the University of Catania and lives in the province of Catania. She published four books: Poesie Furbe (Kubera Edizioni), L’Antico drawing (Kubera Edizioni), Il Venditore di parole (CTL Edizioni) and Terra Nera (Nonsolopoesie Edizioni). Sicily is present in all of her books, its atmospheres, its scents, its beauties, its natural riches. She currently works as an editor and proofreader. Another story of her will be published soon.
IN LIFE
Meet up
among the moments scattered by time
that flows quickly and mercilessly
chasing the trail of lightning.
Stop up
one step away from the wind
among the stright grass that imposes itself
faced with a new torment.
To look
with incredulous and new eyes
discovering an ancient soul
in which you find yourself a little.
Life
that you have always denied yourself
you smile and want her to be grateful
for the flowering tree that listens
from the little blackbird his serenade.
THE FLOWER’ POWER
I saw her and stopped
I took a few steps back
I tried to catch its good smell
Galeotta was the rose and its color
I lingered and took her
My gaze from the exit turned
My intention to leave has gone up in smoke
Galeotta was the rose and its perfume
OLD POET
Old poet
you look around …
and you see a crowd
without faces.
You smile…
– but true ?! –
a rare event!
you don’t find feedback
in many tight lips.
Do you weren’t a poet?
you have become it
hy did you understand…
this world’s too much false
to queue you up.
So… like an empty room
you filled your life
of strong feelings
and of thoughts careful.
Poet of a moment,
soldier of your life,
from withered nothing
you found a way out.
And you look passionate
to that rarity… but
the mask will fall,
the trick will go away …
and nothing, nothing, nothing
will remain.
MARCH 2020
The world has stopped
you keep in mind
“never again the agglomeration”.
The enemy is pretty tough
be quick to leave the crowd.
And I see only one future
among many scattered houses
in large green spaces
the smell of burnt branches.
