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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Crown of Thorns
A trace of thorns you are
on my body,
I am an eternal traveller,
never stopping.
You are the bitter predicament
of my comfort,
Traces of sensual pleasures -
The mist of a veil is
my constant reminder.
You wound the stubble of my heartly thorns,
I stand alone on the dusty conflagration
Gazing towards an endless void,
I am bridled with the burning pain of the
thorns...
My gaze tirelessly roves,
Prickly are the thorns,
With malediction entwined...
I am drowning in a sweaty torrent,
I am plunging into thorny depths,
bloody and overworked
from the struggle,
I yield myself to
the decision of fate.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2012
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Night after night,
the hassock in my room,
the only safe haven
against the bale anguish of times
reminding me of happiness gone by...
Worn from kneeling,
furrowed from weeping and sighing,
the purple velvet still carries traces
of time impressed with the Lord´s prayers...
Above, a crucifix in the wrath of God
reminds me of my insignificance...
My feeble and quivering hands
are joined together,
convulsively around a rosary,
Hopelessly rising towards Thee
begging your -
Miserere, Domine!
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2013
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Spring
Spring is being born
in the early morning...
The glades are awakening
into gentle green,
The dawn songs of
bashful blackbirds
Are echoing through
the woods...
I am listening to the warbling
of blackbirds,
The harmonic singing
of black choirs
Lead by an
invisible conductor.
The chattering of
the blackbirds' chorus
Is getting ever louder
And now uttering their
songs are others too.
A heavenly melody of
birds' choirs
has emerged
Which - off the slopes
of a forest glade -
Echoes in the pleasant
Symphony of a
blissful morning.
TRANSLATION FROM SINTI /GYPSY
Milaiy
Milaiy biyanelpe
teharinasa ko dive,
ushtel hem pravelpe dive
sar baiyrola kham,
ashunelpes khurlo zorale
e chyiriklenghero o ladjutno,
kaiy ashunelpe lenghoro
khurlo khem khi vosh...
Ashunaw chirklenghero ghyliavybe,
kydimo djal khalenghero khurlo,
khay legarolen lenghoro
bashaldo khurlo.
Marinduy o muy ykhalen ghylialia,
sar synfonia kana si khydimi,
mai but zurali, mai but pho zurali.
Chiriklenghri gylii khay ashunelpes
lenghoro khurlo.
Sar edevleskheri ghilii,
sar ashunes maj baro baro synfonia,
chirklenghoro ashunelpe sar
devleskheri ghilii,
synfonia kydimi e Devlestar.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2012
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Fatherland
I have no home, no fatherland,
I am a soldier with no weapons,
No worldly goods can tie me down,
My paths lead me into distances grey.
Trenches are my bed,
The starry skies of the universe
Will cover me when nights are cold.
I shall write invisible letters
On clouds of cigarette smoke
And remember times full of grace
When groves were awakening in spring;
Only memories remain there,
The tranquility of souls will not decay.
Bitter thoughts have built barriers,
Fields will bleed in spasms -
A safe haven for a hero of the fatherland.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2012
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
God Almighty
Oh God, before Thee
on my knees
I fall in hopelessness
of my soul!
The chain's ring is squeezing
and suffocating me,
The mark of a wound
from sombre fetters
Restrain the freedom
of my soul...
Dreadfully dark is this night...
Gloriously in the tabernacle you dwell,
Commanding troops of angels
for ever and ever,
Send me help,
Give me an elixir,
So I can walk loyally on the path
That leads me to paradise
in heaven.
Full of thorns and vain hopes
are the paths,
That today are the failings
of mankind,
Gazing onto your
almightiness,
I shall break the fetters
of my soul
And banish the darkness
and fear into
infinity...
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2012
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
If I could press a button—just one,
A brass lever humming in a midnight room—
And shudder back through history’s run,
I’d pause before the urge to bloom.
Would I fix the world?
Avert a war, mend a broken vow,
Convince a poet not to end his song—
Or simply wish I’d learned the cello by now?
Perhaps I’d find the seven-year-old me,
Ears crimson with playground shame,
Letting the bullies’ words root deep—
I’d kneel and whisper, “Your name is not their game.”
Or would I stand on the moon’s dust,
1969—Neil Armstrong’s boot suspended—
And yell, “Try a somersault!” just for the laugh,
So history books would end, “and then he upended.”
Maybe I’d just nudge Newton’s apple,
Make it miss his head by an inch,
And watch him wonder, “Did I imagine that?”
While gravity waits at the bench.
But here’s the truth:
Every itch to change the past
Is really a wish for mercy, for someone—anyone—
To say, “You did okay. At last.”
So I’d use my power not for grand designs
Or rewriting the universe’s rhyme.
I’d find a lonely moment—mine or yours—
And simply show up,
On time.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2025
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Connecting Meditation: The Hidden Flame
Now let us enter the deeper silence.
Here, the night teaches,
the wounds shine,
and the smallest life becomes a mirror of the divine.
Walk barefoot among the mysteries,
let your heart pour into the world,
and let God’s quiet fire
warm even the coldest sorrow.
Connecting Meditation: The Shepherd’s Way
And now, let us bend toward the world once more,
where the weary come, where the faint-hearted calls.
Here, the faithful soul carries nothing but presence,
and offers every wound,
every sigh, every trembling secret,
as a vessel for Love.
Let us be gentle, yet steady;
let our hearts move without clinging;
let our hands reach without pause;
let our voices whisper the eternal Word.
Closing Meditation: Breath of Grace
And now, let all this settle in the heart.
We have walked from selflessness,
through fire and flame,
to the quiet fold of mercy.
Let us carry this light into the world,
let it fall like dew,
soft and steady,
unseen but everywhere.
Love without self.
Serve without pause.
Be present without end.
And in all things,
let the Spirit move gently,
and let the soul rest
In the borrowed words of grace.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2025
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
In the hush before the turning of the stars,
when the world holds its breath
and time trembles at the edge of eternity,
a whisper moves across the heavens—
soft as the wingbeat of an unseen angel,
yet strong enough to wake ancient prophecies
from their long, slumbering silence.
Night gathers like a velvet cloak
around the forgotten hills of Judea,
and in the deep blue stillness
a single vibration swells—
a note of purest light
sung by the mouth of God
before creation ever learned its first word.
O mystery of mysteries:
that Eternal Glory bends low
to kiss the dust of earth,
that the Infinite chooses a cradle
woven from straw and human longing,
that the Almighty whispers His first cry
in the fragile breath of an infant.
Stars lean closer, trembling
as though they too desire
to kneel before this fragile radiance.
The moon, pale with wonder,
draws a silver halo around the manger,
and the wind pauses,
fearing it might startle the newborn Light.
The shepherds, rough-handed and weary,
feel a sudden shiver of eternity
run along the edges of their souls.
They turn toward a brilliance
that does not belong to this world—
and yet, impossibly, lies within it.
Angels spill across the sky
like rivers of molten dawn,
their voices a tapestry of fire,
their song woven with threads
of holiness and ancient joy:
“Gloria, Gloria,
for Heaven has touched the earth tonight.”
In that small stable,
beneath the murmuring breath of animals,
a Child rests—
the One whose hands
will one day shape galaxies,
whose feet will walk upon stormy waters,
whose silence will speak deeper truths
than all the thunder in the skies.
Mary gazes at Him,
And the Child—
O holy Child—
wrapped in the simplicity of cloth and starlight,
breathes warmth into a world
frozen by fear and longing.
On this night,
the veil between worlds grows thin,
and heaven spills its secrets
into hearts willing to listen.
O Christ,
born in the midnight of the spirit,
enter again the quiet chambers of our souls.
Stir the sleeping embers of our hope,
renew the hidden altars of our love.
And we, trembling with awe,
join the hymn that stretches
from Bethlehem to the ends of eternity:
“Glory to the Light Uncreated,
Glory to Love made flesh,
Glory to the Child who reshapes the world
with the softness of His breath.”
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2025
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
Borrowed Words: A Soul Uncaged
I am no bird, yet Heaven taught me flight—
Not through escape, but through the burning will
That names the soul its own unborrowed light,
And whispers: Rise, though every wind be still.
No net of love or fear shall bind the flame
That God once breathed into this trembling clay;
For spirit was not fashioned to bear blame,
But to remember its immortal way.
I leave—not in defiance, but in grace,
To seek the Voice that called me from the deep.
Freedom is prayer made flesh, and every place
I walk unbound, the angels vigil keep.
Let the world forget me if it must—
The soul walks free; the free must learn to trust.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2025
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Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga Poem
(A gentle–prophetic, classical liturgical poem)
I. The Land Beloved
O Slovenia, cradle of my first breath,
You, Emerald Valley, cradled by mountains,
You chalice where the rivers of childhood
whispered their psalms among the pines—
How my heart still kneels before your beauty.
For in your winds I once heard angels,
And in your stones the footsteps of our saints.
Your fields were rosaries of golden grain,
your villages' small tabernacles
where every evening bell
wove heaven into the dusk.
II. The Turning of the Heart
But now the twilight grows heavy.
The silence of unbelief
spreads like fog over vineyards and rooftops.
The altars remain,
Yet the hands that blessed them
grow weary,
and the children who might fill them
wander along other paths.
O homeland, beloved and bewildered,
You walk swiftly into the arms of strangers,
forgetting the One
who stayed with you through all your storms.
You turn to new idols—
comfort, power, the soft lie of self-sufficiency—
and call them freedom.
III. Cry of the Child
And I, your child,
stand like a lone sentinel
at the edge of your sleeping forests.
Not with anger—
for love has no room for such fire—
But with a sorrow that prays.
I do not accuse you, Slovenia;
I weep for you.
I gather your wounds into my hands
as one gathers fallen leaves
to warm them by the hearth.
For what else can a child do
When his mother grows cold?
IV. Benediction for a Homeland
So I bless you, Slovenia—
even in your wandering.
May the One who walked our battlefields
and cried our forgotten tears
call you gently back to Himself.
And when dawn comes—
not the dawn of politics,
nor the dawn of earthly power,
but the dawn of mercy—
may you rise renewed,
like the forests after rain,
like the mountains after snowfall,
like a mother who remembers
the child she once held close.
Amen.
Copyright © Dr. Rinaldo Diricchardi-Muzga | Year Posted 2025
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