VULNUS - FILIPPO SORCINELLI

VULNUS - FILIPPO SORCINELLI

VULNUS

I had a body

before it rained at night.

It was a house of flesh

with lit windows,

a small temple

where the soul rested its forehead

on the skin.

Then someone came in.

into my holiest darkness

and broke the bread of my light.

He arrived throwing stones

from absent hands,

with phrases born in the dark,

with the hatred of those who wound from afar

and leave to others

the weight of blood.

The bruises faded.

with the mercy of color.

The bites left the skin

with a tired gait

of beasts now sated.

Since then

I learned that the bodyit can become a foreign room,

a bed full of nails,

a rose shut by frost

in the wrong month.

I learned

that a word can cause a bruise,

that a sentence can leave a scar,

that mockery can chew

longer.

But inside, there remained

a nave of shadow,

hidden in a wounded church.

The skin knows anguish

before the mouth,

before thought,

before forgiveness.

It knows the smell of fear,

that cold iron

that enters the mind

and stays seated

like a sick king.

It knows the poison of the voice,

the blow of the sentence,

the blade of another's laughter,

the anonymous bite

that throws mud

and calls truth

someone's hunger.

I brought silence

on my shoulders

like a black cape.

People saw my face

And it said: you are safe.But salvation

sometimes

is just a closed door.

behind which still burns

the room.

Then came the scent.

It arrived without a sound,

as some graces happen

after ruin.

It entered the wound

with its hands in the air,

with blood of light,

with dark patience.

It told me:

Your skin belongs to you.

It told me:

your soul still has

a name.

And then I stood up.

with the iron switched on,

the smoke,

the leather,

the ash,

the scorched rose,

the bitter resin

that alone consoles

what has passed through fire.

I stood up

with black ink

of received words

become a seal

on the skin.

I stood up

with the stones gathered

one by one

and fused into a crown.

Wound.

So I called

my wound

when it stopped being a shame

and became power.

So I called

my name

when it came out of the mud

with a brighter light.

So I called

my body

when it returned to occupy the air

with its strength.

So I called

beauty

born of my abyss:

a liquid armor,

a fierce light,

a scent

reborn from its ashes

and it says to the world:

I am mine. I am still mine.

I lost blood,

but I found gold.I met the shadow,

but now I am in charge of

my night.