The bleeding heart of pious sentimentality
My chief regret in lifeis all the homes that were uprooted on the way,
irretrievably forever lost
with all their memories and laughters,
woes and pains and fathomless sincerities,
the fondness of their tenderness and human warmth,
so sadly lost by carelessness and lack of piety,
unnecessarily forsaken, given up and wasted,
sacrificed for lack of care, responsibility, and just for vanity;
while all that’s left of them is ghosts of memories,
which never can be turned away nor be denied
for their sincerity of immortality.
I must regret their loss since it was forced upon me,
being thrown out from my childhood home
for just the sake of egoistic interests,
and my father shared my grief and melancholy of regrets,
while his loss was the greater one,
his life’s work going down the drain;
but even worse was the surrender of our grass roots,
our family inheritance since more than ninety years,
two houses with a lush and splendid garden
by the sea with all Dame Nature at your service and disposal,
a realm of freedom and good health and splendid isolation
although with the deepest scars and painful memories
from the tragedy of three wars and an ultimate catastrophe,
resulting in a melancholy abyss and unfathomable ocean of tears;
but that just made the home the deeper loved and cherished,
kept the more alive for all its memories.
It was sacrificed for blindness to those memories,
for suppressing and ignoring and denying them,
as if it was no more than just a piece of property to make a profit of;
but nothing could dispose of or deny or exile all those memories.
A home is the most precious hearth of comfort and of safety,
a place to thrive, expand, develop and mature by meditation,
and to then dissolve a home must be regarded doubtlessly
as supreme a violation and the ultimate inhuman sacrilege.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2022-10-02 at 02:17
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