From tiles and rubble
I look out towards life
I wear my uncle's coat
a soldier who escaped the war.
Passing among displaced people
and celebrating kids
I'm looking for my old home,
the abandoned medlar trees
a modest hunt
with a kiss
I open the door
and I have in mind
the face of 'Italy with gritted teeth
and blood dripping
but has a heart of stone...
Where a piano used to vibrate
only dust and earth
and I seem to hear
the burning voice of Anna Magnani
which instills hope...
Silver olive leaves
tell a distant Easter
the roof which almost landslide,
a swallow lies lifeless
between a shoe and a bucket
and I have in mind the face of Italy
the gray and glass statue of Mazzini
with his threadbare notebooks.
Where before a piano vibrated
only dust and earth
and I seem to say
Anna Magnani's burnt voice
which instills hope. .
And I seem to hear
the warm voice of Anna Magnani
singing a sweet melody...

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