(Liberta’, translated from Maltese by Alfred Palma)

This is the guitar
that I could never play,
if only for a moment,
so I could hear the singing
snaking through the dejection
of yesterday.

This is the poetry,
one heavy metaphor,
a solitary voice
out of a diaspora.

This is the telephone
that I could never use
so that I could hear
a voice that’s free.

This is the fresh air
that I have never felt
inside the closed-in spaces
that I’ve lived in.

⟵ Lura