Stories & Poetry

Poetry: Salina Calling

February 6, 2015 1

Our mother is an island, born of fire
At her feet, ancient children sway back and forth
Pebbles polished smooth by the hand of existence
Caught in the tide of the infinite ocean that licks
At the breast that her children once suckled
Longingly, they turn towards the bountiful sea
Enchanted by the promise of glorious fortunes
And stories washed in from faraway shores
They roll, across each other, laughing along the way,
For they are a community of brothers and sisters
A community born of volcanic soil, family and toil
They depart, one by one to prosper in foreign lands
But across the Mediterranean winds, our mother whispers
Awakening a desire to return to the past, we roll once again
Like a newborn babe bewitched by the scent of her mother’s milk,
We seek the security of her lap and the comfort of her embrace
Our mother awaits us, hear her, Salina is calling.

Cristina Neri, 2010.


There is 1 comment

  • moyha bettess says:

    Congratulations Cris, you certainly have a flair for writing inspiring, illustrative poetry.There is no doubt about your love of the Islands and their history.

    I enjoyed the historical background of the islands and the origin of Aeolian Sfinci d’ovo – they sound yummy! love Moyha

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