L'aura del Campo

Roots [169.119]

Roots

I come from Gothic roots, dug deep
into cold unforgiving clay,
a litany of pine and empty lakes,
holding onto misery.

I come from emerald lands,
so green that potatoes will not grow there,
my ancestors forever fighting over a rock,
once coveted and lost.

I come from Roman roads, the bones
of the land engraved in stone,
the marshes now the abode of birds
and those who could not leave.

I come from abundant hills and flowing rivers
where snow covers roofs and the blood
of countless wars, the congealed remains
of senseless wars.

Nowhere has flesh been warmed and welcomed.
Worthless, I died again and again.
Now roots seek rest and well-earned sleep.
They will not waken at the winter's end.

© Kåre Enga [169.119] 9 October 2012

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