Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monica Martinelli

52

The imperfect machinery of my body
sheds heat, surrenders it,
emanates energy to appease the pain
that flows through veins and spreads
from the center to the extremities.

No warmth nurses me
to caress a solitude that is waiting,
a vague sense of desperation
under the appearances of quiet.

Unheeding cirruses in the sky
create masks of illusion
to shield from the sun the mystery of life,
the golden leaves of an ancient redwood
shedding their needles.

52

52

La macchina imperfetta del mio corpo
disperde calore, lo cede,
emana energia per attutire il dolore
che fluisce nei vasi e si diffonde
dal centro alle estremità.
 
Nessun tepore si prende cura di me
a carezzare una solitudine in attesa,
vago senso di disperazione
sotto apparenze di quiete.
 
Distratti cirri in cielo
creano visiere d’illusioni
a riparare dal sole il mistero della vita,
le foglie d’oro di un’antiqua sequoia
che perde i suoi aghi.
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52

The imperfect machinery of my body
sheds heat, surrenders it,
emanates energy to appease the pain
that flows through veins and spreads
from the center to the extremities.

No warmth nurses me
to caress a solitude that is waiting,
a vague sense of desperation
under the appearances of quiet.

Unheeding cirruses in the sky
create masks of illusion
to shield from the sun the mystery of life,
the golden leaves of an ancient redwood
shedding their needles.

52

The imperfect machinery of my body
sheds heat, surrenders it,
emanates energy to appease the pain
that flows through veins and spreads
from the center to the extremities.

No warmth nurses me
to caress a solitude that is waiting,
a vague sense of desperation
under the appearances of quiet.

Unheeding cirruses in the sky
create masks of illusion
to shield from the sun the mystery of life,
the golden leaves of an ancient redwood
shedding their needles.
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