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Versi lil hinn minn xtutna

CONNECTION

Her deep eyes talk conveying much to hear whenever I see her fading sepia image from years ago

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I simply strive to decipher and then try finding words to articulate what is heard in the serenity of her silence.

DEVO

RAJENDER KRISHAN L-Indja

(minn Amma’s Gospel, 2020)

Devo entrare dentro di me per liberarmi del “devo ma non posso”. Devo slacciarmi dai gangli che sbarrano il mio passo. Devo spegnere la noia che decelera il mio corso. Devo sputtanarmi, sverminarmi, sterrarmi. Devo piangere lacrime di coccodrillo per sorridere a questo incesto. Devo piantare semi di erba tossica per reggere l’oblio. Devo scatenarmi, configurarmi, resettarmi. Devo riempire i vuoti che ingombrano il mio orizzonte. Devo imbrigliare le stelle per trovare un po’ di luce. Devo ribaltare l’assioma “Il quadrato costruito sull’ipotenusa è pari ai quadrati costruiti sui due lati”. Devo svuotarmi dell’io che inquina la mia mente. Devo assaporare la polvere che sollevano le mie scarpe per sprofondare nelle sabbie immobili del tuo cuore.

SALVATORE NAPPA L-Italja

(minn Fiori di luce, Volturnia Edizioni, 2020) MY MOTHER’S SECOND SKIN

My mother’s second skin was Mediterranean. Sharing its secret life she swam deep across the bay, slipping grandfather’s gaze and met her lover on the other side.

This final night I listen to her breathing waves. Crushed shells shifting past each other, hushed in backwash as the tide withdraws... though a [restless

swell still reaches, now and again for the unattainable permanence of shore.

Her coastline, my beach, the ground of my being is surrendering grain by grain, leaving land’s hold going back to the sea, meeting my father again. My last link with this island is slipping away and returning home will never feel the same.

ANNAMARIA WELDON L-Awstralja

(minn Stone Mother Tongue, UWA Publishing , 2018)

ABSENCES

Perhaps you send messages to the naughty feet of the waves? Maybe the morning veils itself as it falls over the elusive head of the almond tree? By chance you may hear the rumor of the moss through the silent blackbird of blood, through the tedious and weathered moon on the cold walls of insomnia? Questions, just questions that witness the absences of light, the abandonment of joy.

ISABEL MARTÍNEZ BARQUERO Spanja

(mill-ktieb Lunas de Ausencia, 2016, poeżija adattata għall-Malti minn Stephen Cachia)

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