Children playing in the pool:
a suffering Mother Mary and an old little chapel,
that’s recently been renewed.
Dressed in white we walk,
through the Summer heat we grow:
up and down the breasts, of Life’s breathing chest.
Moved by the smells of our infancy we go,
in our trip we flow,
passing by an air-balloon-eyed dead cat on the side of road.
(Balm-crickets carry him in this passage that he chose, time and time ago).
Then there’s a farmer, speaking with his thoughts:
in an old and ancient dialect, his quest for Peace he develops.
On the dry dusty soil, big dogs into sleep go:
of small dogs restlessly playing they dream, following the flow of their inner stream.
(That’s what teenagers do, with a life they can’t have:
it’s a joy they protect, not to be aware).
Children peacefully resting in the pool:
a hopeful Mother Mary and a new consecrated chapel that’s recently, for the first time, been used.
(Here is the clue: the silence of this summer afternoon it’s,