‘The ocean of fire’ (2024). Gaby Sambuccetti.
Image: @jayzzy86

In this land there are threads of gold that make your feet bleed,
like the one left on the shore of this sea.

And sometimes,
the kindness of this soil can be found
in the most unexpected places:

Where Aphrodite is not
the goddess of love,
nor Venus a planet without torment.

I know kindness remains
in the coals
that used to be fireflies…

Because my country has this ocean of fire,
where it is difficult to surf the waves
without setting the mooring on fire…

then our moons lie
between the black smoke
and the weddings of the air.

My birth was between the plasma of the unleashed earth and a fireproof
stretcher.

I came out from the water of a belly
to move on to the extinguished matches,
thrown in some corner.

My country is in full extinction.
My bed is a desert of uncertainty.
My sky is a phosphorescent oasis.

The ground is made of iron,
There is almost no oxygen,
and it is full of dead volcanoes.

My country is in permanent combustion,
its population died before it was even born,
and there is only emptiness around.

It is far from the sun,
close to the rocks,
with the helicopters spinning.

There is nothing to be jealous about my homeland,
it is a pure incandescent molecule,
just ridiculous particle.

But tourists keep coming to visit it,
people who later cry
when they are burnt.

My body was built
with concrete
that resists its fire.

My country is a disaster…

…but it is my disaster.

And no one
has the right
to fan its flames.

To be able to see this steam
is not to have control
over its speed.

My country is an unidentified object
that can be glimpsed in the distance
from the earth.

It is a circle of heat,
a distant red light
filled with dust.

It is gone,
flickering in the beyond,
with its sacred winds.

In my house
frozen water
is my only religion.

My country is not a chess game
of any privileged
mortal…

My country is not
the bonfire
of any darkness.