Fatuzzo Books Blog

AN OFFERING – A poem by Giacomo Fatuzzo

A lonely soldier in a distant land on Christmas Eve. Following is a poem Giacomo Fatuzzo wrote during his early days in colonial Libya and put in his novel “Two Souls in the Sun.” The poem, breathtaking descriptions, and a haunting story can be found in that book. (Available for purchase from amazon at amzn.to/2sKfE6t)

AN OFFERING

My soul speaks to my fantasies.

I want to sing about Distance and Nostalgia—the distance of all the far-away things that one loves, the nostalgia for all things that memory has fixed in the heart.

I love the distance of all things, because from it is born the desire to have them near me.

I love the distance of the sun because it warms without burning my bare flesh.

I love the distance of far-away lands because they fill my heart with silence and nostalgia.

I love the distance of things that are impossible, because my will succeeds in creating them in the reality of my soul.

And I love Nostalgia.

The nostalgia for lonely roads which get lost without hope on the boundless plains. On them my soul finds a new peace.

The nostalgia for long distances that do not give respite to the desire to stop. This is what calms my nomadic heart.

The nostalgia for lands lost in the sun, sad with silence and solitude. In them is the life of my soul that renews itself.

The nostalgia for all things that I left with the desire to find them again, because in them lives hope.

My soul speaks to my fantasies.

I want to sing of Nostalgia and Silence—the nostalgia for all things far away and the silence to hear all things that speak to me in my solitude.

I love the nostalgia for a thousand places where I dragged the heavy chain of my existence.

I love the nostalgia for a smile. In it I become inebriated with memories, and my joy lives again although my happiness is far away.

I love the nostalgia of a smiling mouth that my lips have pressed and have made silent.

I love the nostalgia for dreams of things I have not experienced.

And I love Silence.

The silence of long moonlit nights when no breath disturbs the serenity of nature. In it is the spirit of poetry.

The silence of starry nights that speaks to my heart with the flowery language of dreams. In it is the spirit of truth.

The silence of solitude and of the desert that surrounds, with magical enchantment, my joy of living. In this is the spirit of nature.

The silence of my soul that feels the sadness of everything. In it is the spirit of God.

My soul speaks to my fantasies.

I want to sing of Silence and Love—the silence of all things that are silent and the love of all things that are created.

I love the silence of eyes that transmit a thought with a glance. This silence is better than a noisy word.

I love the silence of lips that caress and smile. This silence is better than all the most delicate sounds.

I love the silence of joy without words. In this silence is the happiness that makes us alive.

I love the silence of lust that burns the incense of life. In this silence is the happiness that makes us die.

And I love Love.

The love of a woman who loves and keeps silent, because in this silence love finds the strength to live.

The love of a woman who loves and gives happily, because in this happiness is all the sweetness of life.

The love of a woman who smiles and deceives, because from this lie is born the force for a rebirth into a new life.

The love of a woman who flatters but does not yield, because this love sharpens the razor of desire.

My soul speaks to my fantasies.

I want to sing of Love and Time—the love for all things created and the time that passes without ever returning.

I love the love of a woman who yields without hate and yields again without deception. This is the perfect love.

I love the love of a woman who yields without asking for anything and yields again. This is the perfect love.

I love the love of a woman who smiles and does not deceive. This is the perfect love.

I love the love of a woman who enjoys the joy she gives. This is the perfect love.

And I love Time.

The time that marks with its rhythm the hours of my lust, because this sensual pleasure does not last; and one must not scorn fleeting joys.

The time that rocks and fills the silence of my solitude, because in this empty silence exists the spirit
of justice.

The time that denies eternal life for my flesh, because in my flesh lies corruption.

The time that marks my hours of anguish and pain, because in my pain lies the spirit of purity.

My soul speaks to my fantasies.

I want to sing of Time and of Joy—the time of things that have no end and the joy that entices and lulls to sleep the living.

I love the time that by running brings me closer to eternity, because in eternity lies the life of my soul.

I love the time that erases any guilt, because in guilt lies the death of my spirit.

I love the time that counts my purest joys, because purity will turn to faith.

I love the time that absorbs all life, because in the death of the flesh one finds the life of the spirit.

And I love Joy.

The joy that I was granted thanks to my sensitive flesh, because the senses are the strings of my spirit.

The joy that I was granted to satisfy my thirst for life, because this thirst is the anguish of my being.

The joy that is given me by the kiss of a girl, by the smile of a flower, by the sweetness of a musical note.

The joys, big and the small, because happiness is made of large and small joys, large and small desires.

My soul speaks to my fantasies.