To a dead demonstrator

To a dead demonstrator

Photo by Corey Agopian on Unsplash My father was a poet and journalist. He suffered a lot during WWII. Almost all his friends and all his brothers died young during those horrible years. He was taken prisoner first by the Italian Fascists and years later by the...
Hope

Hope

This morning, I took a walk and I saw the first ducklings swimming on the river this season. Life goes on. Good to know it. Hope is a difficult subject for a depressive person. One tends to see only the negative part of the life. And there is no room for hope. But I...

Faraway

Faraway, where my memories live, there is a small island with its shores bathed by crystalline waters. My boat seems to fly between the blue bright sky and the green bottom of the sea. He is waiting for me on the beach, smiling. Faraway, where my memories live, there...
Scroll Up