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Shipwreck

As a young officer

grandfather Arturo is on the ship

to save our Italy.

 

When a handsome German in heaven

soon drops two torpedoes.

 

The shipwreck is very bad

many, too many have died.

Grandfather saves his injured friend

and swims away.

 

By now the war is already over

few have returned home.

Grandpa knows this life

must be defended at all costs.

Fabio Borgia

Survivor of Marina

(sailor carpenter)

 

 It's a sailor:

he is alone.

Alone at the mercy of the sea

and is afraid ...

fear of dying.

 

The steel giant,

battleship Rome,

on which he stood,

safe,

has sunk,

at the launch of a bomb

enemy.

 

He no longer feels his body,

holding on

to a life preserver,

feels the end,

close.

Floriana Vittani

To the Mother of Sailors
(Donna Fortuna Riudavez Novella)

It is a serious, sad hour of the Fatherland.
They burn bodies and souls,
hearts burn with anxiety and pain,
the helpless quiver, the guns are silent.
Hunted like wolves, there by the sea,
they set out in procession
dismal
on the waves he no longer trusts
four pieces by Patria.
Hardened men have in steel
muscles and heart;
in the procession is the sign of Death and Glory,
the gloomy, disheartening shadow hangs over it
of the defeat.
The procession has no goal.
It appears over there in the dim light
strip of land.
The motors struggle the last space
until the last drop of the precious
fuel that gives them strength and life;
torn and mourned await the hour
of the last rest
the dead of "Rome" ...
A woman awaits them, lonely
weeping soul on the shore,
a woman embraces them in her gaze,
daughter of Italy on a foreign land,
a woman who, mother, in her heart
the sighs and moans of other mothers
he holds and suffers.
And there, alone with the heart and with the agony,
sees come down to earth,
for the veil of tears, with the living
the martyrs.
They are there, to the sweet husband it unites them
in the place and in the love. From those tombs
insistent and tenacious it spreads
a scent of flowers
that he had
<< Villa Fortuna >>.
The hundred, the thousand see it in weeds
sailors of Italy
cry with them,
go down with them, soften them, humble,
with the generous offering of all his possessions,
the sacrifice seeming nothing
to "Mamma" what a miserable relief
to torture.
They shell slowly as in a <<rosarium>>,
terrible rosary - in captivity -,
the days, the months; but a woman always
is with them above them,
with the provident care of a mother
to soften with a pious smile
miseries and troubles.
The whirlwind has passed. The expected hour
has come. You come back.
They rejoin the tried trunk
those passages of the homeland,
but a shadow obscures the joy of return;
upright, tiny on the bank, again
a frail woman and a sacred cloth:
<< Mamma Fortuna >> bound to the tricolor!
You don't need eyes, because tears
a fog assails them,
but his heart
feels that the sweet sacrifice is at the end,
that the children of pain go away,
who will no longer have them.
And she eagerly accompanies them with her soul,
Angel of mercy, towards their mothers
of which for a long time
added the worries.
But there, in a corner of silence and peace
there are those who await it, there are those who sigh for it
prayers and tears ......
<< Madonna delle Grazie >> has the name of the site,
<< Lady of Love >> call those dead
You,
Donna Fortuna, << Mother of Mahon >>!

 

Prof. Giuseppe Vallebona - The soul sings - Gastaldi Editore - Milan 1954.

A castaway to fallen comrades

 

A blue solino sailed in mid-water

like a seaweed plucked from the rock.

 

In the calm of that September afternoon

suddenly the red blaze

rose from a broken heart

of the beautiful ship,

it rose to bruise with thick smoke

the sky;

the roar was like an immense scream

of superhuman pain.

 

And it was all a bubbling of foam sauce

around the whirlpool,

open like a mouth of death

on the ravenous belly of the sea.

 

One thousand and five hundred dead

in a single large steel coffin

to lengthen again

weapons and controls

in the blue shadow of the abyss.

 

From Capo Testa to Asinara

echoes the undertow

the agony of mothers and wives

and the painful astonishment of orphans.

 

Pregno of salty and stained with red

a blue solino drinks the warmth of the sun

on the stones of the shore.

Italo Pizzo

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