I sleep in a dream generated in the nightmares

and eat scraps of hope, milled in the impersonal

and mechanical time’s machine.

Scraps that feed me to be no more than a dry tree,

searching for pulling and unwinding roots

that capture me on the ground.

I prevailed over fate that once deceived me

and now walk and will spread my life around.

I wish distemper, hallucinate and extrapolate,

horrifying who has enchanted and eluded me

in that dark and deaf land, that was not mine.

I will go, doubtlessly renewed man, in search

not of a drop of water but of a rain that rains

thunder and lightning, the same like the flood

that has baptized our era.

I will reap fruits that, blessed by my hands

and hard a toil,

by sure will make me more and more strong.

I will make love to my wife in sheets of soft Chinese silk

and we will be asleep in a bed of fragrant Lebanon woods.

Not that I deserve more than Abraham,

who only had a glimpse of the Promised Land,

but, of this new one, God willing,

I will take secure possession.

Published in the April 2015 issue of The Gambler.

Published in the February 2016 issue of Indiana Voice Journal.


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