Poetry

‘The troubadours’ and other poems

By: Enrico Barigazzi.

The troubadours

They were skirmishing with ink and letters
composing stanzas putting together lines
while crowned heads and princesses were dancing
in their courts full of lights and shines

they’ve passed through the pages of history
chanting struggles and deeds of their beloved knight
who wanted to win his lady heart being ready
to challenge some ancient devil in a sword fight

the old castle ruins are watching their rusty armours
they’re lying down on a carpet of grass and moss
waiting for the return of the old times
when they sought revenge for their ladies loss

now the ink is dry, the letters are getting old
on the yellowed pages where the chivalry is buried
no one else won’t wield spears and shields riding a horse
another princess will bide her time to get married.

###

Kill the line

A white page is expecting to be written
but lazy hands are havering on it
distracted eyes don’t notice what’s happening
around them
the mist of the insouciance is a curtain
behind wich pens break their imagination
it’s enough to give life back to the dreams
taken from the deep feelings out of the anxiety
to depict a different way of conceiving the reality
around our daily life and keeping our world fine
eventually, words will be written when we kill the line.

###

Poem from the underground

I saw Dostoevskij contemplating
the pain of the faces portrayed
on the cards he used to play
their tears were rolling down the cheeks
of the mercy the common people didnt’ have
while the poor folk were strolling down the streets
under the intense winter snowfalls
they had longed to hear a sweet prayer
which would have softened their frustation
but they were too busy to seek their place in the world
looking for a tiny room to stand called compassion.

###

Light into a cave

While we are trapped into a cave of impure thoughts
the suffering could seem to kill our voice
our words are falling down
in a well
a dark deep well where unredeemed dreams are lying
floating on the backwater of mistaking
we are misled by wicked talks
there’s a need to learn
new languages through the common humankind’s culture
to fire up the light into the bleak nightmare of ignorance.

Categories: Poetry

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