Cosimo Pacciani
La City dei Tartari
9 Dicembre Dic 2013 1634 09 dicembre 2013

Keep Asking - It's a Political World

It is a mid winter morning of luminiscent beauty

Bianca and I walk down to school

And she goes 'one day I will be an astronaut'

In the precise spot where last week she told me

She wanted to be a mathematician,

Two weeks ago a poet

Three weeks ago a mother of five kids

Four weeks ago a surgeon.

It is the location of the walk to school

Where our little chats get

Into a dreamy status

When the mundane arguments

Are exhausted

When the review of her homework

Triggers a sparkle

As intuition of good.

The more I dig into our morning walks

Through the tree-lined street

her blue and green uniform and her etruscan smile

At ease with the fast steps of these times

The more I learn about hope and dreams.

About hope for the future

And the dreams of a completely new generation.

Bianca walks and grows

Through seasons changing like her life

We have seen snow, flowers, leaves

Under our feet.

Hand in hand.

We run, we walk, we laugh

I tell her off for something

Or, more often, she kindly reprimends me

For my momentary absence of attention

Like if every word she says

Should be considered a statement

It is a political world

She tells me

People want to be listened to

Kids are people

And we never listen to them

We never give attention enough

To our children and that child inside

That child that keeps asking, asking

Asking, asking, wanting, desiring, asking again

Asking for freedom

For peace

For a soul nurtured by love

And kindness

Happiness and more smiles

For things to learn

And turn into wisdom

The little wisdom of seeing thing through

It is a political world,

We are all politicians, she said

Because we all want something good

And we want it for others too

We want the kids in the street

And the ones far away

Blessed by the same sense of love, protection

And freedom to dream all over it again

What to become one day. 

We get to school

The class room is sealed

And the parents flock away

But the sense of dream hangs over my head.

Yes, I say to an imaginary Bianca next to me,

As she waves from the school window smiling

It is a political world

And, if politics are what you say,

Keeping asking for

It is a rather beautiful one

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