InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Oct 30, 2016AtavismThe boy breathes more freshly, hidden by the shutters, staring at the street. You can see cobbles through the clear fissure, in the sun…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Oct 30, 2016IndisciplineThe drunkard leaves the astonished houses behind him. Not everyone dares in plain daylight to go around drunk. Calmly he crosses the…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Oct 30, 2016MeetingThese hard hills that made my body, and to many memories shake it, to me they opened the wonder of her who doesn’t know I live her and I…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Oct 30, 2016MythOne day will come when the young god will be man, griefless, with the dead smile of man when he has understood. Even the sun passes…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Oct 30, 2016MediterraneaMy friend does not speak much and that little is different. Is it worth meeting him in a windy morning? One of us, at dawn, left a woman…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Sep 22, 2016AncestorsAstonished of the world I received an age when I stroke my fists in the air and wept by myself. Listening to men and women’s speeches…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·Jul 11, 2016Green WoodThe still man stands before the hills Till these hills will be made of earth the villagers will have to hoe them. He stares at them but…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·May 20, 2016RiotThe dead one is twisted and doesn’t look at the stars: his hair is glued to the cobbles. The night is colder. Those who’re alive go back…
InWorking WeariesbyElio Marpa·May 20, 2016A GenerationA boy used to come playing in the meadows where now the avenues stretch. He found in the meadows other lads, also barefooted, and he…
