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Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
in Poems (Author's Poems)
For him who only knows your color, red flag,
you must really exist, so that he can exist:
he who was covered with scabs is covered with wounds,
the laborer becomes a beggar,
the Neapolitan a Calabrese, the Calabrese an African,
the illiterate a buffalo or dog.
He who hardly knows your color, red flag,
won't know you much longer, not even with his senses:
you who already boast so many bourgeois
working-class glories,
you become a rag again, and the poorest wave you.
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    Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
    in Poems (Author's Poems)
    I died for Beauty - but was scarce
    Adjusted in the Tomb
    When One who died for Truth, was lain
    In an adjoining Room
    He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
    "For Beauty", I replied
    "And I for Truth Themself are One
    We Bretheren, are", He said.
    And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night
    We talked between the Rooms
    Until the Moss had reached our lips
    And covered up - our names.
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      Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
      in Poems (Author's Poems)
      Mine - by the Right of the White Election!
      Mine - by the Royal Seal!
      Mine - by the Sign in the Scarlet prison -
      Bars - cannot conceal!
      Mine - here - in Vision - and in Veto!
      Mine - by the Grave's Repeal -
      Titled - Confirmed -
      Delirious Charter!
      Mine - while Ages steal!
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        Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
        in Poems (Author's Poems)
        You're my bondage and my freedom,
        my flesh burning like a naked summer night,
        you're my country.
        Hazel eyes marbled green,
        you're awesome, beautiful, and brave,
        you're my desire always just out of reach.
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          Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
          in Poems (Author's Poems)
          Remember Barbara
          It rained endlessly on Brest on that day
          And you walked smiling
          Radiant enchanted dripping-wet
          In the rain
          Remember Barbara
          It was raining endlessly on Brest
          And I came across you in the Rue de Siam
          You were smiling
          And I smiled the same
          Remember Barbara
          You whom I did not know
          You who did not know me
          Remember
          Remember even though that very day
          Forget not
          A man, under a porch, was sheltering
          And he called your name
          Barbara
          And you ran towards him in the rain
          Dripping-wet enchanted radiant
          And you threw yourself into his arms
          Remember that, Barbara
          And do not resent it if I call you: "tu"
          I say "tu" to everyone I love
          Even if I have seen them only once
          I say" tu" to all who love each other
          Even if I do not know them
          Remember Barbara
          Forget not
          The quiet and happy rain
          Hereon your happy face
          Hereon the happy town
          The rain hereon the merry sea
          On the arsenal
          On the shuttle boat to Ushant
          Oh Barbara
          What a bloody farce the war
          What's become of you now
          In the rain of iron
          Of fire, of steel of blood
          And the one who clasped you in his arms
          Lovingly
          Is he now dead, missing, or still alive
          Oh Barbara
          It's raining endlessly on Brest
          As it rained before
          But now it is not the same, and all set abased
          It is a rain of mourning, terrible and desolate
          Now it is even no longer the storm
          Of iron, of steel of blood
          Merely clouds
          That go coma like dogs
          Dogs that go missing
          Along the current over Brest
          And will go pouring in the far
          In the very far away from Brest
          Of which there is nothing left.
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            Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
            in Poems (Author's Poems)
            Hands clasped, under the dark veil.
            'Today, why are you so pale?'
            - Because I've made him drink his fill
            Of sorrow's bitter tale.
            How could I forget? He staggered,
            His mouth twisted with pain...
            I ran down not touching the rail,
            I ran all the way to the gate.
            'I was joking,' I cried, breathlessly.
            'If you go away, I am dead.'
            Smiling strangely, calmly,
            'Don't stand in the wind,' he said.
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