Thursday, September 19, 2013

Like a painting, like a scribbling, like a city,

Like a painting,
Like a scribbling,
Like a city
Dressed in red builds
Going up,
With cranes fit,
As ladders go up,
A picture drops,
The Known city,
The known art,
The known mind,
And yet so italian by design,

Just like Amadore,#
Whom me met through my eyes
And who planted once the seed,
'In search of  La radice, (c)'*
A special, very special thing into me,
Me sees,

A design,
A craft,
An Amadore perhaps,
A fiction of my own,
There on me eyes are shown
Again,
By the morn.

{ Note: the painting attached is not mine, not done by me either, but it is Italian sure, collected from an Italian site.
# Amadore : a character of a fiction written by me and Amadore Ghirlandaio is his full name.
* In search of la radice: the title of the fiction, written by me.
(C) : the fiction ms already submitted, carries copyright protection, quite understandably, }

No comments:

Post a Comment

The State Funeral

At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut,  She could not have spoken for  The rare award,  The police have done the th...