Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Milo De Angelis

Everything was already on its way. From then to here

Everything was already on its way. From then to here. All
of time, luminous, skimmed across the lips. All
the breathing strung on the necklace. Lambrate’s
shadows shut the door. The whole room
taken in, became the first heartbeat. The black
of your hair against the yellow of the last sunbeams.
From then to here. It was the first day of summer.
The silence filled our thoughts. Everything was
already on its way, from then on, everything was here, unique
and lost, ours and far from us, burning. Everything asked
us to wait for it, to return to its true name.

Everything was already on its way. From then to here

Tutto era già in cammino. Da allora a qui. Tutto
il tempo, luminoso, sfiorava le labbra. Tutti
i respiri si riunivano nella collana. Le ombre
di Lambrate chiusero la porta. Tutta la stanza,
assorta, diventò il primo battito. Il nero
dei tuoi capelli contro il giallo dell’ultimo raggio.
Da allora a qui. Era il primo giorno dell’estate.
Il silenzio ci riempiva la fronte. Tutto era
già in cammino, da allora, tutto era qui, unico
e perduto, nostro e remoto, ardente. Tutto chiedeva
di essere atteso, di tornare nel suo vero nome.

Close

Everything was already on its way. From then to here

Everything was already on its way. From then to here. All
of time, luminous, skimmed across the lips. All
the breathing strung on the necklace. Lambrate’s
shadows shut the door. The whole room
taken in, became the first heartbeat. The black
of your hair against the yellow of the last sunbeams.
From then to here. It was the first day of summer.
The silence filled our thoughts. Everything was
already on its way, from then on, everything was here, unique
and lost, ours and far from us, burning. Everything asked
us to wait for it, to return to its true name.

Everything was already on its way. From then to here

Everything was already on its way. From then to here. All
of time, luminous, skimmed across the lips. All
the breathing strung on the necklace. Lambrate’s
shadows shut the door. The whole room
taken in, became the first heartbeat. The black
of your hair against the yellow of the last sunbeams.
From then to here. It was the first day of summer.
The silence filled our thoughts. Everything was
already on its way, from then on, everything was here, unique
and lost, ours and far from us, burning. Everything asked
us to wait for it, to return to its true name.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère