by Marcello Comitini

From a small country station
abandoned since my adolescence
to the nettles and the silence of the stones
now for the shame, now for the ruins of affections
it moves inside me like a storm
and it torments me.
It’s the gelatinous, black mass
of an old locomotive
that devours the flames and burns the steam
while I search with difficulty for the meaning of my life.
He has red friezes that attack me
and a chimney that devours my oxygen
which spreads smoke in the lungs and blinds the eyes.
It goes up to the brain
it stop for a moment in the heart
then plunges my soul into darkness.
She leaves him no respite and dares to penetrate
in the strongest feelings of being
it upsets them, destroys them, deprived of a future.
And everything around hershivers
crushed by icy iron.
I’m only aware of it when it comes out
from the dark depths of my brain
terrified space that measures
the distance between me and the real world.
Prey to a happy wonder I return
to the intensity of life. I do not regret her.

(*) For a better understanding of the text, the final part of the verse:” I do not regret her” refers to anxiety, symbolized by the locomotive.


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