Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Bio: Dr. Maria A. Miraglia, is an educationist, bilingual poet, translator, essayist, and ministerial lecturer for English language. She sits on the editorial boards of several international publications and peace organizations and is the Literary Director of P. Neruda Cultural Association and the Founder of WFP. With over 20 anthologies published, her poems have been translated into 30 languages and featured in over 100 anthologies and magazines. Her many achievements include receiving multiple international awards and being elected to the European Academy of Science and Arts in Salzburg.
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
Everything else will not be told to you
You will only experience it 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
And the end will come.
And you won’t understand
@Maria Miraglia
THE CROW
A crow woke me up
(this morning)
loud croaking
he was on the windowsill
where my canary
for ancient time
comes at dawn
with his cheery notes
to wish me good morning
I looked around and said to myself
he will come and
I’ll chase away the blackbird
that with defiant eyes
looked at me
while hopping among my plants
up and down
I told him to go
far among the trees
where his cries would no longer have
disturbed my awakenings
but he is there
calling to the mind his gaze
the evil one
still I will wait for my yellow bird
and for him spread breadcrumbs
on the windowsill
Meantime in all its glory
rises the sun at the horizon
while a sense of mourning
gains its way into my chest
what did the crow do
of my dear bird
but he stopped croaking
as if to tell me that nothing
of the little innocent
he wanted to reveal
@Maria Miraglia
WAITING
Everything remains still
timeless
I don’t hear the breath of the wind
among the leaves
the clouds up there
as painted
stay suspended in the sky
distant the memories
of the harmonious melodies
of the birds in the air
In the morning
the smell of the wet earth
the drops of dew
on the thousand flowers
scattered in the fields
Come from afar
sounds and noises
like a band
of improvised musicians
the dust of fumes
darkening the air
the acrid smell of bombs
of dead bodies
meal of worms
And silent stay Men
closed have their mouths
aware or not
of their guilty silences
without expressions
their eyes
looking afar maybe
waiting for…….a Godot!
@Maria Miraglia
