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Carlo Lazzari | + Follow Poet |
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Abandoned Child

Your walk 
Through the wild urban path 
Under lampposts trees.
In vain you travel questioning 
The meanders of your grief.

The slimy paving 
Of a deserted gallery 
Echoes your steps of suffering 
On the silent columns 
Of a gothic front.

Slow the foot 
That pain has bound.
Languid the eye. 

But the mind is attentive 
To an unreal carousel 
Of sounds and lights 
That has always taken 
The place of boyish diversions.

What is formless confuses the spirit 
While the deformed nightmare 
Captures the deepest essence
Of a solitary and loveless child.

Lonely spirit of a consuming pain. 
You drag yourself with the steps 
Of the dreamlike nightmare 
And you rest in the arms 
Of the missing hope.

Never mother held you 
Between herself and her heart
Neither father told you 
Of his certain love.

Your breath is slow 
But rejoices and agonises 
To the scents of highway cuisine. 
Hunger echoes inside your empty guts
And the food of other 
Luckiest children 
For you are part 
Of dreams now gone.

All at once, you heart rejoices 
And gives you back the hope 
While your ears perceiving 
The distant chimes that announce joy.

Your thought is now led 
By the spirit-mother 
That every child has nearby
As a glimmer companion,
Behind the cold corner
Of the building in winter,
Amid the landfills
Of a smoky town,
At the queue for the food bank.

Now your spirit is cast away 
Escaping a land 
Of desolation
Of night horrors.

Too much for you
To grasp
From the lone
Lamppost and
Cardboard house
And the fire in the bin

You leave life forever 
Freed from a world of atrocities.
Towed in your last pilgrimage
By the heart 
Of a mother who never had 
Offspring of her. 

You are now led along 
The green meadows 
Of a boundless Eden.

There, finally, you find refreshment, 
Love, and the house 
That you have always dreamed of 
From your terrestrial shelter.

Your body now gradually 
Frees your spirit 
That retraces your streets 
Of loneliness and suffering, 
Of violent adults and absent friends.

What remains is now a small 
And a cold little body 
In front of an abandoned portal 
And the pity of a pilgrim 
Leaving a glance 
And a slender flower.

Copyright © Carlo Lazzari | Year Posted 2019

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