#Poetry:”Closed Doors”.

This is the English version of: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/22/poesiaporte-chiuse/


I knock,

we knock.

To these closed doors.

Which most likely,

they will stay that way forever.

I knock,

or rather not, I’m far away,

because I know no one would answer.

But I keep knocking,

so much fear,

that what I loved,

that what was,

never comes back.



That she,

never comes back.

As I try to accept it,

also to open myself to the miraculous eventuality,

to see who I have lost,

I feel a weight inside,

a lump in the throat,

unspeakable pain.

Closed doors.

Finished books,

closed books.

That I know I should leave that way,

but I would like,

I wish there was another way.

And I bang my fists,

against closed doors …

attached to anger,

to hope,

to pain.

The only things I see,

still alive,

still true.

Fuckin ‘closed doors,

open them, a moment.

Almost if it could say,

that you are good only with your legs

and vowels.

Closed doors,

like people’s heads….

But you know,

instead of knocking,

I would really like to break through.

And smash someone else too,

in another sense.

Doors smashed.




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