Here comes the Sun
Please, don't worry about me
Don't ask me about Paris:
I'm doing fine, taking time,
And - for just a little while -
I want to forget Paris
And enjoy just being alive.
Vera da Pozzo
Somewhere in the North of Italy
26.10.26
To an Italian guy who worries about me because of the Puppets' Riot and has sent me three e-mails in two weeks. He certainly will not read this poem, as I jealously keep my blog behind a curtain of mystery: I do not talk about it and the decision to express myself outside my natural environnement, which is the handwritten paper, took a very long time before becoming a real thing. Today, after a relaxing walk, I will finally send him an e-mail.
Last week, I had to talk about what happens in Paris and France with my cousin - and Godfather - and his friend, during our very pleasant passeggiata, then with my best friend from Palermo on the phone (he is one of the rare people I can enjoy having a long telephone call, from time to time; I hate calls and my smartphone is constantly on mute) and to think about all of this made me sick.
I am so fed up with ignorance, stupidity, manipulation and violence and all the news and the social media spreading anxiety, fear and hate: it is already painful for me to endure a toxic workplace (I stand firm and I am too clever for letting them win, but it is very exhausting to face the envious mob) and these nervous times make me want to forget Paris and to enjoy these short school holidays in a quiet place.
Photograph below by me, taken early this morning and resized, in order to avoid any identification of the place where I am.
(C) Vera da Pozzo
(C) Italy is Mine
(C) Italy is Mine and It owes Me a Living
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