My land is far away in the mind
among arid hills burned by the sun
where the fragrant wind of sand and essences
brings the song of ageless people.
Where the day gives way to shouting
of crickets in the warm and clear nights of stars.
Where the fires lit in the dark
they speak of boundless wisdoms,
of ancestral fears,
of light and mysterious women,
of barely whispered prayers.
My land is there,
where light clouds merge on the horizon,
where the dew colors the flowers
and accompanies them on the first journey of life,
where the rustle of palm trees rise to the sky,
where tender childish games are lost in time
and they come back in the morning of memories
to warm the soul.
(Trebbo Poetico 2001)
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