It's snowing atop the Sicilian lands,
I'm running over the seas with empty hands,
An untamed volcano stops me; now I wait
A windless sunset over Messina strait.
Shadows taking over the eyes of the night,
A dormant storm is gliding high as a kite;
Strong coffee in mugs, pipe of peace in hands,
'Tis time for silence, no time for crusades.
It's something indeed on this canvas of dreams;
Under many layers, I've found what it seems
To be an ancient voice, the heart of the Sphinx,
Speaking though centuries while I catch a glimpse.
