TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN BY THE AUTHOR

1.Slot

The door creaks
it doesn’t close

it struggles to hang over –
the parapet

heavy – made of metal
an occlusive pattern
the passerby claims to
match in notch and
not in substance

by digging a blind alley
I thought to wedge
your heart into it

I was spinning, spinning
I hit you at the exact
point of the square footage

as you grew larger
with the moisture of our tears
and began to be anviled
to my passage.

I thought I had the key
but instead, only I
was limiting myself
to limit

the extent of the lock
the exactness of your stitches –
hinges where we held ourselves
on our feet – greedy for
footsteps, souls
in molten wood
in the gaze on yesterday
closed – today.

The passage
does not devour
the becoming.

We are inside and
outside everything
that belongs to us
facilitated by a closure
fine – end.

2.Like this love

you and I
we are fire
lotus flowers:

prominent leaves
thorny petals
fierce wings

elevated to a blanket

emotion – in the full
to be filled – your voids

in your garden
of wild plants

I touch your wounds
I blow on your pain

humble sneeze
how simple is

this aid comes
with the storm

you sting my full
unfolding gaps of
dissolved clouds

at the mouth of the sky

we are liquid
in our essence

back to the soil:
seed in the dark
bud in the sun
like this love.

3.Bloodflood

The heart throbs
the ominous progress of winter:

the artery of time arches
among thousands of weathered branches
it longs for oxygen
looming.

Your body dances and
the rain fondles you:
my eyes are calm
pulsing in yours.

In a grateful embrace
the sleet of your eyelashes
the warmth of my lips
they inhale contrasts
in an atonal breath.

Profuse
our hands meet
joined by the snow
now covering your face.

Icily
my heart lives
in the avalanche
of your loneliness.

4.Drop

Drafting the wish list
to be distilled slowly:
warm mouth of my fuzzy thought
I count a river of words as big as mountains
I try to hold its temporal bank not to float much in the marine universal
I recover the voice, balance the unsolved soul
I embrace the fate, the only familiar way to the arms.

5.Wave plume

With the grace of the sun to the South
walking on eroded stones

thorny balance
tickles the steps
sources of waves

rhythmic dance
tribal shadow
scorching course

of voltaic ports
your slashing wings
a flap of billows

zephyr among carob trees
you draw plots and
sharp swords

to fight the clouds
refracting on the coast
happy shouts rain down.

Feathered altar
the dream of being peace
in freedom.

Also, read A Literary Review On Robin S. Ngangom’s ‘The Desire Of Roots’ A book review by Shrestha Mukherjee and published in The Antonym:

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