Italian version here: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/04/24/poesiasperanza/



The only thing that remains,

they say she is the last to die.

And indeed, if you lose hope,

what do you have left?

This sweet illusion,

that keeps you attached

to the desire for something different,

something new.

Hope is an illusion,

perhaps like free will.

The hope,

it’s a thing we cling to,

even when we say we want to stop doing it,

there is no way.

There is always a part of us that hopes,

even when it’s over.

We are corrupt,

life is corrupt,

what we are, what we want.

When it is often not our fault,

we are contaminated by the world around us,

you get tough,

but hope never dies,

‘This bastard.

That makes us survive,

knowing and hoping that tomorrow,

is better than yesterday, today.

What you don’t have today,

you will have it tomorrow.

Maybe hope dies and resurrects,

like us,

that we die inside, a little

day after day.

Something about us that is lost forever,

or maybe just for a while …

Maybe to come back later,

perhaps to improve.



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