hospital on Christmas Eve in 1947 / 48 + + dix dix
dedicated to people affected by
wars against terrorism and all children
only orphans scattered in hospitals and orphanages.
Christmas Eve in the hospital
1947/48 (autobiographical)
a strange light in the ruins
motion calling
the light strips in the small chapel of the hospital ward
dermosifilopatico thin vapor
quiet atmosphere of anxiety dazzling
"Lazarus" bandaged from head to toe
torn veterans more than any
incurable wounds and wounds all missing children as orphans
me with pitiful eyes and head bandaged with gauze wings
to warm up a nativity scene pieces of dust and stones
quell'acre stinging sensation in the throat of ointments and disinfectants
mixed with fumes of burning candles and clouds of incense
actually still alive
impossible to tell that "our breath away" in an atmosphere of infinite beauty
"infra shadow and light" glimmering silver gilt puissance
warm glowing radiance
enveloping cloud in the air as vertigo lifted everyone and everything
the uncertain flame of the candles in his hands bandaged
also postponed moist eyes glistening rivulets
emaciated faces disfigured in the large wooden beam full of love
crying in the deep heat of the earth despite the cold
a shoot regeneration
snow-white headdress that
Sister Luisa
Sailing in the heart of reassuring us children
turned into angels by his hands for the Christmas Eve
close neighbors not to feel the chill to ease the pain
the moaning cry
reincarnated in the same desire for peace gathering at night Highlight
Gregorian Chant for the full
for the miracle of Christmas
the dream in the hands stretched out the desire to clear mornings
in the flickering light of candles
the hope of reconciliation in the quiver
powerful natural desire of a world free to express
the desire in your pocket jingling keys
the keys to a warm reassuring
house in the heart of those children orphaned and there
lost the desire to grow
to rely unfolding "after another"
over the horrors of war
back each year to the poignant notes of the organ
that Christmas night vigil in the atmosphere where even
that vitreous crib
animated by stalactites
and stalagmites that the tears of mankind fatally wounded
has built
may be small enough
on and watch the great fire of
and listen to the voice of someone who is always traveling
waiting
a real SONG CHRISTMAS
Author: Paolo bell
(published in a literary magazine)
