Cold, in a fog
getting thicker,
in a timelessness
gnawed by hunger,
they rest their
muddy shoes,
loaded
with the cry of children.
Their feet bask
on the asphalt of a world
thought to be a dream,
waiting for awakening,
among the naked walls
of tribulations.
They murmur prayers
silently on a garland of
drops of their sweat.
Nothing else but
hatred
gets through their words
of indistinct shreds.
Pennies filled with pity
fall into
their laps.
While sweating blood,
they march
into their deaths.
Poems by Susanna Peremartoni 