We were sitting on our stone staircase.
What is life? I asked my siblings.
“Life is breathing,”answered Biagio. “Even trees breathe.”
“Life is a tiny bird on a small branch,”said Vincenzo.
“Unexpectedly the sprig snaps,
and the little bird flies away.”
“As for me,” replied Carolina, “life is a dream,
sometimes beautiful and often nightmarish.”
“Life is destiny!” I ended off. “It is a beautiful drawing on the sand,
and the drawer already knows when the tide will erase it .”
This poem is an excerpt from my book, A Hidden Sicilian History.