We were sitting on our stone staircase.

What is life? I asked my siblings.

“Life is breathing,”answered Biagio. “Even trees breathe.”

“Life is a tiny bird on a small branch,”said Vincenzo.

“Unexpectedly the sprig snaps,

and the little bird flies away.”

“As for me,” replied Carolina, “life is a dream,

sometimes beautiful and often nightmarish.”

“Life is destiny!” I ended off. “It is a beautiful drawing on the sand,

and the drawer already knows when the tide will erase it .”


This poem is an excerpt from my book, A Hidden Sicilian History.

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