Nov 6 · 1 min read
The Wind doesn’t Blow on the Heart
The dust scratching the eyes, you can wash it away with tears.
The dust suffocating the lungs, you can always spit it out with a cough.
But the heart, alas, the heart has no drainage ditch to get rid of anything.
And there the dust remains, insolent.
And it asphyxiates the memories.
This poem was originally written in Italian and published for the first time on my blog.

