Desperation

I am the flower of

who knows what buried log

that to be alive

creates children

up from the dark

womb of the earth—

I am an icy flower—

estranged

from every human mercy or prayer

and the air around me

is empty—

breathless—

shaded

by mournful cypresses—

O who will give to the flower

to its painful corolla

the final strength

to bury the self?

Translated from the Italian

Notes:

The copyright of this poem belongs to the “Carlo Cattaneo” and “Giulio Preti” International Insubric Center for the Philosophy, Epistestemology, Cognitive Sciences and the History of the Science and Techniques of the University of Insubria.

Source: Poetry (October 2019)