NEW FEARS
Mirroring yourself
on the pond of time
you look at your face
your white hair
and the wrinkles on your forehead
as if they sculpted
Many starry skies
or storms that
scored your pat and
in the evening now
you feel the fatigue
of the day of the
slow steps that
bring you to the alcove
where Morpheus struggles to arrive
your dreams have no more
the colours of the dawn
The smell of the pure morning air
on the new day
to live in joy
but gloomy
they turn to the twilight hours
and with pain
you think of the time that fled
which like poison
infects your mind
afflicts your soul
and you feel strange fears
you didn't know before
Maria Miraglia
A CRY
You arrive bringing with you
All the secrets of the long journey
Locked up for months in a womb
Waiting for the moment
Of the liberating cry
That says you made it
That you are here
You are
From here on out
You will experience everything
On your skin
On your body
In your mind
Winds will pass through you
Until make you falter
Fall and maybe
Get you back up
Again
The end will come.
And you won’t have understood
YES, I BELIEVE
I believe in love
love that asks nothing
love that needs no oaths or
everlasting proofs
reassurances and confirmations
that can understand my silences
and perceive the unspoken
emotions do not need words
because messages
that you can seize fast
as in the flapping of
a robin’s wings
And I think of you and me
under a blu moon
no matter where
listening to a romantic serenade
played by harps and violins
holding hands
silently looking at each other
maybe rewinding our past
or foreseeing our coming tomorrows
Yes, I believe in love
THE ROUGE OF THE SOUL
You fear exposing your soul
its truths
and look in the mirror
staring at your image
but almost frightens you
to investigate to the bottom
Your soul is there
well hidden
you can hardly
recognize it and
soon realize of it
you feel a little ashamed
so immediately get organized
to find remedies
not to make it come out
as it is
and invent strategies
to cover it with rouge
you dress your face with smiles
your language becomes courteous
and polished
your lips always open to compliments
or in defence of the weakest
always the first to condemn injustices
and hypocrisies
You love applauses
and for this
take care of appearances
but sooner or later
you'll find again alone
with your Self
A LEAF
The mild wind tonight
caresses my face
gently ruffles my hair
and I'd be a leaf
let it take me far
on its wings go
through valleys and mountains
cross the oceans
see from a distance
the lights of the houses
the lamps of boats at sea
reach a remote land
to hear the voice of silence
and feel one with the immense
WHAT WAS IT FOR
Even among the most deafening noises
you can feel its call
you know you don't want to go
but you also know it's an invitation
you are not allowed to decline
and think then
of what you would like to bring with you
what does not matter to you to abandon
but even more
you ask yourself
what it was for
crossing this world
beautiful and mysterious
How many times have you looked up into the sky
and wondered about the stars
shining like pearls
or sitting on a rock
in front of the sea
thought of the earth
suspended in space
almost feeling a sense of dizziness
Useless thoughts
like migratory birds
crossed your mind
now sick and old
you remember those moments
and say to yourself
people have never had
the keys to open some doors
to grasp the meaning
of the immense
and of life itself
@Maria Miraglia
------------------------------
INQUIETUDE
She arrives,
comes in
Slams the door furiously
And throws the keys away
To keep her far
I beseech aid to Reason
That smiles at me
Like a mom does
When a baby poses a weird question
So I turn to Patience
that in straightaway tells me
wait wait
but she's been there a long time
I say
even when I feel like sleeping
as an owl
she begins to hoot and
in the morning when silently
I open the door to leave her inside
she follows me like a shadow
but what can I do to get rid of her
wait and hope
don't you see how long and
white my hair is
ask your Sub-conscious
she then softly whispers to me
After a long walk
I meet this myself
hidden and unknown
and I also ask him
to free me of the enemy
that with bravado and arrogance
stays in my mind
occupies my thoughts
with a lit torch
the Unconscious shows me infinite paths
dark and intertwined with each other
one life would not be enough
she tells me to enlighten them all
Then I go back
and the banality of everyday life
wraps me again
like an airwave hot and stuffy
while assails me the nostalgia
for infinity
for the immense meadows
where free blow the winds
@ Maria Miraglia
------------------------------
UNDER THE INDIAN SKY
Beautiful like a Madonna
In the land of many colours
Wrapped in your gaudy saris
From dawn to dusk
You tear off the grass from the arid ground
Yet regal thy gait when slowly you go
Through the golden fields
Of the ripe wheat
Under the clear sky
breathing unaware
The magic of the Indian air
Like a vestal of yore
Your temple the sweeping lawns
Reveal thy wistful gaze
Like an open book
The mild wind leafs through
Your sufferings and self-denials
Painted is your face
With dignity and grace
While tight closed In your breast keeping
Dreams and the many hopes
For the violated freedoms
And choked aspirations
Each of your tears
A drop of the Holy Ganga
@ Maria Miraglia
A FRAGILE BEING
In the coolness of the room
the curtains drawn
to protect from light
the rest on a summer afternoon
You arrive silently
Your golden hair
gathered at the nape of the neck
your big eyes like a child
that has just begun
to move her steps
look at me
as if to tell me so many things
Haste and habits
don't permit grasping details
those silent messages
that a look a movement
might reveal
But at that moment
I linger my gaze on you
as has not happened for some time
and I catch a sea of emotions in you
a fragile being
who wants to show to be strong
In a moment
immersed in your sea
I feel your cravings
your desires
albeit understandable
your aspirations
that sad times are slow to satisfy
and some regrets
for what it could be
and it wasn't
A woman now
beautiful in her features
elegant in her movements
a rose whose stem
sways in the cough of the wind
and I loved you even more
in that moment
and strong emotions gushed out
like lava from an erupting ignited volcano
Extraneous Room
You turn back
while I’m following you
from not afar
Sitting now
in that chair
of an extraneous room
white and grey its walls
like the clouds outside
On this cold autumnal morning
hanging a small painting
of the Virgin
there ever silent
and people from the beds
observing curious
You look at me
and I get close to you
to see mute tears flowing
from your eyes
I’d hug you
hold you tight
cherish you
with the nicknames
of our moments together
among the friendly walls
which have seen you grow
Agitated the soul motions
like when all of a sudden
the wind comes
to shake the leaves
among the shivering branches
and you can hear their whispers
as accelerated heartbeats
carried away by the wind's breaths
I take your hand
and you smother your torment
pretending to feel good
and I to believe you
PUPPETS
Sitting on the stone of time
I let the hours go by
crystallized the moment
not to be guided as a leaf
by the winds
like a dead leaf
but to look beyond
for that
I told the heart to shut up
and turned on the light of the mind
A brushstroke of grey
turned off the bright colours
of day and night
erased from the sky
shades of pink
the nuances of gold and blue
reclined the flower corollas
in the fields
as if united by the same pain
and the cries of the birds
in the skies
weren't joyful
Puppets the passers-by
moved by invisible hands
bizarre and stiff the grimaces,
painted in bright colours
on their wooden faces
always the same
which created a strange contrast with their legs
in constant motion
in an attempt to touch the ground
under the feet
how sad a sight
I said to myself
while feeling the desire to go back
open my eyes to the sunlight
that so much dazzles
and so much it hides
To My Mother
Far as the stars
shining at night
on the dark canvas
the time together
but I can still feel
the scent of the lilies
in that home
whose windows are closed
since that gloomy day
The sun comes back
and rises the moon
again and again
the colours of the seasons
seems to be the same
and so the murmurs
of the waters flowing
to their mouths
but the sense of joy
when with you
my guide my angel
But still I can hear
your reassuring voice
and feel the touch
of your hand on mine
when talking to me
of life and love
with words of wisdom
Where are you Mom
do you love me still
THE LAST TRAVEL
Crouched
At nightfall
On your old armchair
Next to you
a small table
With a few books
Placed there with care and
An unlit lamp
The sky outside
is getting sad
Like your soul
while with nostalgia
you are coming back to your past
pausing here and there
Maybe you feel you have regrets
would like to stop the time
Grab it
Stop its run
But inane and with bitterness
you witness the alternation of days and nights
Following the season
Bloom again the branches
In spring
But anon
you seem to hear
the rain falling on the roofs
Or the snow fill
The air of light white flakes
And dance to the blows of the wind
From that dark room
Hands-on tired legs
Take another look at the sky
You have no escape
you think
Once departed from here
That will be your endpoint
It's dawn
The window is still open
You still there
Your eyes are closed
The white face
As carved marble
You have completed your journey
In silence and alone
On a moonless night
A MAN WHO BELIEVES HIMSELF A GENTLEMAN
It gives me fun
to watch men
observe their ways
They all think to are good actors
even though neither Visconti
nor Rossellini would ever choose them
not even as extras
How many of their smiles
false and mischievous
handshakes and
vain hypocrisies
but also knowing the interlocutor
that all this is just a game
old and foolish
he soon enters the part
accepting praises bows
reverent greetings and
many more he reciprocates
He brings his smiles
up to home where
closed the door behind his back
gets rid of the mask
of a man who believes himself a gentleman
and of those he met
plague and horns
begins to tell
DISTANCE
Pungent as cups of hemlock
your silences
long as cold winters
your absences
And change the seasons
peeps the moon out
on warm nights
knocks the rain
on the roofs
when autumn comes
and tinges with green
the mantle of the fields
in spring
But immutable is the distance
between you and me
between us
as of planets
orbiting around two distant worlds
Maria Miraglia è una poetessa, saggista, traduttrice e attivista per la pace. Il suo impegno per i diritti umani e l'attivismo per la pace è evidente nella sua appartenenza di lunga data ad Amnesty International, Ican e all'Osservatorio internazionale per i diritti umani. È anche vicepresidente del World Movement for the Defense of Children—Kenya e fondatrice della World Peace Foundation.
L'influenza della dott. ssa Miraglia sulla letteratura contemporanea è significativa. Come scrittrice italiana cosmopolita, il suo curriculum accademico è impressionante, collocandola tra le stelle del mondo letterario. È membro fondatore e direttore letterario della Pablo Neruda Association e membro di diversi comitati editoriali di riviste letterarie internazionali.
Scrive in italiano, inglese o entrambe le lingue. Le sue poesie sono state tradotte in oltre trenta lingue e sono presenti in oltre cento antologie in tutto il mondo. L'opera che l'ha fatta conoscere a un vasto pubblico di lettori è Dancing Winds, tradotto anche in telugu. Tra le sue ultime antologie, Colored Butterflies ed Echi nell'Aria.
Miraglia è una scrittrice con notevoli capacità. Ha un'immaginazione squisita e il suo stile è lucido, trasparente nel pensiero, filosofico e significativo nella sostanza. Ha intrecciato abilmente emozioni e creatività, filosofia, logica e ragione, dando alle sue poesie un'aria di nuova bellezza. I suoi vari tratti e valori ispirano i suoi lettori. La sua straordinaria originalità la rende una scrittrice autenticamente brillante.
Miraglia Maria A.
Membro dell'EASA -Accademia Europea delle Scienze e delle Arti- Salisburgo
